


Need Against Need Against Need

by sleepygold



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Good Brother Diego Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-11-18 22:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepygold/pseuds/sleepygold
Summary: Detective Diego Hargreeves has been assigned to work with Lieutenant Anderson to stop deviants.Unfortunately for the DPD, he has to juggle that with an abrupt family reunion and an impending apocalypse. Not to mention he'd sooner impale someone than allow anyone to touch his mother, deviant or not.





	1. the midnight hour is close at hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("Imagine a story where everything goes wrong, where everyone has their back against the wall, where everyone is in pain and acting selfishly because if they don’t, they’ll die. Imagine a story, not of good against evil, but of need against need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone is to blame.”)
> 
> -Richard Siken

**Nov. 5, 2038**

 

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?” A raspy man’s voice asked from Hank’s right. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” Or not a man at all. “I looked for you at the station but Detective Hargreeves was kind enough to inform me which bar you were likely to be in,” It said.

 

“Fuckin’ Hargreeves,” Hank mumbled, not looking up from his drink. “What do you want?” He asked, speaking up.

 

“You were assigned a case earlier this evening; A homicide involving a Cyberlife Android. In accordance to procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

 

“Well I don’t need any assistance. Especially from a plastic asshole like you. So be a good little robot and get the fuck outta here,” he said and took a long drink.

 

“Listen,” the android pressed. “I think you should stop drinking and come with me. It’ll make life easier for the both of us.”

 

These things had such one track minds. Hank nodded a bit and hoped it would go away.

 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant but I must insist. My instructions stipulate that I must accompany you.”

 

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Hank gave a short laugh.

 

“No. Where?” It asked, as genuine as it could.  

 

Finally turning to look at the damn thing, Hank saw the thing was meant to imitate a white male with brown eyes. It was good looking, as all androids were, dressed neatly in dark jeans and a white button down with a tie alongside a suit jacket. It’s voice was oddly raspy though, less clear than the voices of other androids he’s heard. Hank wondered why before he decided he didn’t care.

 

“Never mind,” he said, tired with the direction of his own thoughts.

 

“You know what? I’ll buy you one for the road. What do you say?” It offered. “Bartender, another one here please.”

 

“See that Jim? The wonders of technology. Make it a double,” he said as Jim, reached across the bar to get the whiskey bottle and refilled Hank’s glass.

 

The android slid a bill across the counter and he wondered who the hell would allow it money, before tipping his cup back and downing his drink.

 

He exhaled deeply afterward and looked up at the android, which hasn’t moved an inch since it arrived. “Did you say homicide?”

 

It stared back at him evenly.

 

* * *

 

Hank parked his car in front of the house painted red and blue from the countless police vehicles parked up and down the street.

 

He observed the civilians taking in everything they could near the police tape, uncaring of the late hour, looking for gossip or reassurance. Nothing unusual.

 

“You said here,” he told the android in the passenger seat, opening his door. “I won’t be long.”

 

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant,” it responded easily.

 

“Fucking-A whatever I say,” Hank grumbled, almost pleasantly surprised at the change in attitude. The thing had been so _pushy_ at the bar.

 

He lightly swung his door shut behind him, immediately soaked by the rain, not bothering to lock the car. Place was full of cops. Nobody would dare.

 

Hank made it only six steps before a microphone was shoved in his face.

 

“Joss Douglas, for Channel Six News. Can you confirm this is a homicide?”

 

“I’m not confirming anything.” Hank told the man, not missing a step.

 

“Typical DPD, not telling us shit,” he heard a woman grumble from the crowd of civilians.

 

Christ, Hank literally _just_ arrived. At this point the damn crowd knew more than him.

 

“I didn’t even know anybody lived here,” another woman commented, which was more interesting and he noted it in the back of his mind and he passed the police tape, making his way to Collins for a rundown.

 

The man gave a quick jerk of his head to begin heading inside.

 

“Androids not permitted beyond this point,” he heard behind him.

 

Oh hell. “It’s with me,” he called back, turning around to see the damn thing followed him despite its assurance of staying in the car.

 

No embarrassment on its face, because why would it care, it turned to Hank.

 

“What part of stay in the car didn’t you understand,” He complained.

 

“Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant.”

 

“You don’t talk, you don’t touch anything, and you stay outta my way, got it?” He ordered.

 

“Got it,” it replied, in the same damn tone it told Hank _whatever you say_ not one minute ago.

 

Who’s instructions overruled Hank’s orders?

 

“Evening Hank,” Ben Collins called out, making his way down from the porch before Hank could ask. “We were starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

 

“That was the plan until this asshole found me,” he eyed Connor a bit before following Ben.

 

“You got yourself an android, huh?”

 

“Very funny. Tell me what happened.”

 

Together they stepped towards the porch, the android a few steps behind.

 

“We had a call around eight from the landlord. The tenant hadn't paid his rent for a few months, so he thought he'd drop by, see what was going on...That's when he found the body.”

 

The house was in poor condition, the wood peeling and the yard was overrun with plants.

 

A few months though, huh? Hank prepped himself, taking a deep breath of the damp outside air before entering the front door.

 

“Jesus, that smell!” Ben complained anyway. “It was even worse before we opened the windows.”

 

Hank didn’t have to imagine, the rot was strong even now, not to mention the trash all over the place. The flies were buzzing around, to his disgust.

 

The body was up against the living room wall, CSI snapping up photos before the body could be moved.

 

Carefully out of the way of the photo taking, Detective Diego Hargreeves was crouched down and eyeing the body, eyes focused intently on something above it Hank couldn't see in the lighting.

 

“The victim's name is Carlos Ortiz,” Ben continued. “He has a record for theft and aggravated assault. According to the neighbors, he was kind of a loner...stayed inside most of the time, they hardly ever saw him.”

 

Hank recalled the comments from the group of civilians outside. It wasn’t such a surprise such a man took so long to find if nobody knew to look.

 

“With the state he's in...was it really worth calling everybody out in the middle of the night?” Hank complained, gesturing for Hargreeves to switch spots. “You could’ve waited 'til morning.”

 

Ortiz was stabbed well over twenty times and died face up. A crime of passion? There was a blatant blood trail leading from the kitchen that he’d have to check out.

 

“This guy has been waiting for us for a good three weeks,” Ben said, probably just to make Hank feel bad for griping. “We'll know more when the coroner gets here. There's a kitchen knife over here, likely the murder weapon.”

 

“Any sign of a break in?” Raising his eyebrows, Hargreeves wordlessly passed over his flashlight.

 

“No, the landlord said the front door was locked from the inside, all the windows were boarded up. The killer must've gone out the back way.”

 

“Do we know anything about his android?” Hank asked. _Like why it doesn’t clean,_ he didn’t say.

 

Rather than ask that and risk coming off as ruder than usual over an actual dead body, he instead shined the flashlight above the body where Hargreeves was staring so hard at.

 

 **I AM ALIVE** , was written in a neat, orderly script in what appeared to be blood.

 

Slowly, Hank stood back up, feeling every year as his knees popped.

 

“Not much. The neighbors confirmed he had one, but it wasn't here when we arrived.” Ben took a slow breath and began easing his way back out to the front door. “I-I gotta get some air. Make yourself at home. I'll be outside if you need me.”

 

“How’d he get this far into the career ladder with such a weak stomach?” Hargreeves mused, stepping up to Hank’s side.

 

“Must have caught him on a bad day,” he said, annoyed on Ben's behalf. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Where’s Patch?”

 

“Eudora took twelve days off for her aunt’s funeral over in San Francisco.” Hargreeves turned to face him head on. “I take it you didn’t read the email?”

 

“Email?” Hank repeated. Christ, he should have stayed at Jimmy’s.

 

“Hiya, partner,” Hargreeves said wryly.

 

“I don’t need a partner,” Hank said immediately. “Certainly not some kid.”

 

Hargreeves rolled his eyes, like the child he was. “I’m thirty, man. And it’s only until she gets back. Believe me,” he said, turning to head towards the kitchen, taking care to not bump the android, who had crouched next to the bloody kitchen knife. “I’m more unhappy about this than you.”

 

That was probably true, Hank could admit. He's sure the whole department has heard Detective Patch complain loudly in the break room about Hargreeves’s habit of going lone wolf when he had a lead at an unreasonable hour.

 

Hard to go lone wolf when the Captain kept giving you a stubborn partner.

 

Taking a few steps forward to follow, eyeing the Red Ice on a side table, Hank froze in horror at what the android has the gall to do.

 

He was suddenly regretting his last drink.

 

“Jesus, what the hell are you doing?!”

 

From the hallway, Hargreeves paused his inspection of whatever the hell he was looking at to turn back around.

 

“I'm analyzing the blood,” it said, in a tone that suggested _Hank_ was the unreasonable one here. “I can check samples in real time. I'm sorry, I should have warned you,” it said, fingers still tacky from where it scraped dried blood off the knife and _licked it._

 

“Alright just...don’t put anymore evidence in your mouth, _got_ _it_?” He jerked a finger towards it for emphasis.

 

“Got it,” it said, waving its bloody fingers back.

 

Christ! That’s twice now it’s ignored Hank.

 

“Well,” Hargreeves spoke up, moving closer. “What’d you analyze?”

 

“The blood belonged to Carlos Ortiz and is approximately 19 days old. There are traces of red ice in it.” It responded immediately.

 

Anybody with working eyes could see the dead, stabbed body on the floor and red ice on the table, Hank thought. It was disrupting evidence for nothing.

 

He wasn’t unaware of the implications though. That it could receive that information in a matter of seconds. What it could mean for missing person cases. Quicker drug tests and the like.

 

Android nurses could figure out which patients to avoid giving certain painkillers to, like addicts.

 

Hank shut the thought down before it could begin, suddenly, achingly aware of the smell of rot in the air, of the blinking blue light in the android’s temple.

 

“Do you have taste buds?” Hargreeves was asking it. “That’d be super disgusting if you did.”

 

It was disgusting anyway, in Hank’s opinion.

 

“I have no taste buds. Though my tongue works in what is essentially a miniaturized forensics lab.”

 

Behind the android, Hank saw the camera flashes pause as the CSI worker paused, blatantly eavesdropping. Catching Hank’s eyes, he quickly continued his work.

 

“Sounds expensive,” Hargreeves noted. “And useful.” With a nod, he continued back to the hallway, making his way down it to the back door.

 

Turning back to the body, Hank observed the words again. The words themselves over a dead body was almost ironic if he cared to think about it, which he didn’t.

 

“This is way too neat. No human can write like this without a stencil. Was this written in the vic’s blood?” He asked Chris Miller, who had made his way inside.

 

“I’d say so. We’re taking samples for analysis.”

 

Hank had half a mind to ask the android but it had moved on to the kitchen, probably touching shit it shouldn’t.

 

He sighed heavily, making his way to the kitchen himself. Passing by the red ice on the table, called to Miller to run an analysis on the narcotics found.

 

A cursory look around gave him a basic theory, what with the missing knife from the knife rack and blood stains on the doorway in a clear imprint of dragged fingers.

 

The dented bat left him clueless though.

 

Passing back through the hallway, he saw Hargreeves enter the house again through the back door.

 

“Find anything?” He asked, moving closer. The air was slightly cleaner here, he noticed with a small amount relief as he slowly inhaled a deep breath. Probably from when Hargreeves opened the back door.

 

“Nothing interesting. Gardens dead as hell, no surprise there,” Hargreeves paused a bit, clearly debating saying something before deciding against it, shaking his head. “Door was locked from the inside. Only Collins went to the back earlier, left footprints but nothing else.”

 

“This happened weeks ago. Tracks would have faded anyway.”

 

“Nah, man. That type of soil? It’d take some minor flooding before tracks could fade out. Detroit hasn’t had more than two inches of rain this month. Not nearly enough to fade what wasn’t already there.”

 

Hank eyed him down. “You own a garden or something?”

 

“No. Just grew up listening to survival podcasts,” Hargreeves shrugged like this was normal.

 

“Sounds useful,” Hank said, thinking it was very much _not._

 

“It is today.” Was the only response before Hargreeves stepped around Hank to enter the bathroom.

 

Sighing to himself, he watched from the doorway, certain two grown men would be pressed for room in there.

 

Hank, watching Hargreeves fidget with the kitchen faucet, read the labels on the chemicals beneath it, and peer into the toilet intently, decided Hargreeves made it to Detective so young because he left no stone unturned, which wasn't a compliment. He was fucking _nosy_ without words and Hank made a mental note to not let the man in his own house.

 

“Think the killer is behind here?” Hargreeves asked him, gesturing to the closed shower curtain.

 

“You watch too many movies,” Hank chided, amused anyway.

 

Hargreeves swung open the shower curtain and for a long moment they both eyed the wild scribblings of **rA9**  scrawled over and over on the shower walls .

 

“The fuck is rA9?” Hank asked as Hargreeves crouched down and plucked up a sort of clay figurine near the shower drain.

 

“Dunno. Sounds almost like an android serial number. Like PL600 or AX400. RA900? Is that an official android?” Hargreeves mused, standing back up, figurine in hand.

 

“Don’t fucking touch the evidence, kid,” Hank sighed. Hargreeves wore always gloves on his cases, he knew, but they were _fingerless_ half the time. Probably thought they made him look cool.

 

“This looks like it’s made from the sort of soil in the backyard. Is this a shrine, do you think?” He asked, ignoring Hank’s comment.

 

Hank didn’t know him well, but it was apparent Diego Hargreeves was more knowledgeable than Hank had noticed.

 

Even if it was about obscure shit like dirt.

 

At the comment however though, it _did_ begin to resemble a shrine to now, rather than just repeated scribbles, which was all sorts of eerie.

 

“You think an android made that?” He asked, curious as Hargreeves put the figurine back down.

 

“I think…” Hargreeves dragged out as they made their way back to the living room. “The yard is poorly taken care of. The house is dirty as hell. The windows are planked shut. The doors were locked. But we know Ortiz owned an android. I think this place _has_ to have attic or basement because the android has likely never left the house and still hasn’t.”

 

His words sent a chill up Hank’s spine. Apparently Hargreeves didn’t notice the clear entrance to an attic at the end of the hall. They would have to check that out now, preferably before Hargreeves noticed the entrance and lone wolfed that shit when Hank wasn't looking.

 

“Lieutenant," the android called. "I think I’ve figured out what happened,” it continued as it stepped towards them, away from the kitchen it’d been inspecting. Hank hoped it didn’t disrupt the scene.

 

“Yeah? I’m all ears.”

 

“I believe it started in the kitchen where the victim attacked the android with a bat. The android then stabbed the victim with a knife.”

 

“That lines of up with the evidence,” he allowed. “Then what?”

 

“The victim then tried fleeing to the living room, where the android killed him with a knife.”

 

“Makes sense,” Hank said, as it lined up with his own theory. “But that doesn't tell us where the android went.”

 

Hargreeves tilted his head at this, eyeing the android.

 

“It was damaged by the bat... and lost some thirium.” It said, eyes darting about.

 

“Thirium?” Hargreeves asked.

 

“You might know it as blue blood. It's the fluid that powers android biocomponents. It evaporates after a few hours and becomes invisible to the naked eye.”

 

“But I bet you can still see it, can't you?” Hank asked, impressed despite himself.

 

“Correct.”

 

“Cool,” Hargreeves said, already walking away, eyes on the floor, looking for a basement entrance he wouldn’t find.

 

The android followed closely behind him, eyes on things only it could see.

 

Shit, give Hank some VR glasses and he could do the same.

 

Holding his tongue, he decided to watch the two chuckleheads search in the wrong direction for a good minute before the android found the right track and started to drag a chair beneath the entrance to the attic.

 

A bit disappointed the android beat out Hargreeves to the right location, Hank reminded himself that Hargreeves technically realized the killer was still in the house before the android did.

 

If only the damn kid looked _up_.

 

 _He’s only been a detective for two years,_ Hank reminded himself, summoning patience. _He’ll get a lesson from this._

 

So he stayed silent, not reacting when Hargreeves glanced up at the scraping noise and finally put two and two together, face clearing of focus and damn near stepping on the android’s heels to follow.

 

Chair in place, the android offered a, “Detective Hargreeves, I advise you wait below in case the suspect is hostile, assuming it’s in the attic at all.”

 

Hargreeves scoffed. “If he’s hostile, I’ll be hostile back.”

 

The android, rather predictably now in Hank’s hour long experience, ignored Hargreeves and began to climb.

 

Unlike Hank, Hargreeves didn’t bother reprimanding it. Just huffing and leaning back against the wall, eyes watching the dark entrance the android disappeared into.

 

They stood in silence, Hank shifting impatiently while Hargreeves only moved to rest a foot on the chair, eyes unblinking as they waited.

 

If Hank tried to block out the noise of the people in the kitchen and living room, the only sounds would be the light creaking above their heads as the android slowly made its sway about the attic.

 

Add in the thunder for background noise and the way Hargreeves kept his dark, focused eyes tracked on the ceiling with every _creak_ , this was fantastic horror movie material.

 

And then- “It’s up here, Lieutenant!”

 

Hargreeves had already jumped up into the attic, with an ease Hank envied and an eagerness that left him almost amused.

 

“Ben, Chris!” he called out to be heard in the living room. “Get some cuffs and a squad car ready, we got a live one.”

 

* * *

 

Stomping into the workplace, Hank spared a moment to throw his wet jacket at his desk chair, feeling a chill set in. The bullpen was nearly empty compared to the day crew. Only the beat cops worked consistent hours and the night shift all proved to be annoying chipper, used to the late hour.

 

It reminded Hank he could be in bed by now.

 

The android spared Hank a glance when he left its side but continued following Chris and the cuffed _deviant_ , as they were calling the murderous android, when it saw he wasn't going to leave the building.

 

Hank turned and saw Hargreeves do the same at his own desk, on two away from his own, disposing of his gloves but keeping his jacket on, briefly rubbing hand sanitizer on his hands. The man’s black ensemble was somehow more dry than Hank’s, to his annoyance.

 

The young man pulled a bottle of water from his desk and chugged the whole thing in seconds. Finally looking up at Hank, they shared a glance before they began striding together towards the observation room.

 

“Diego!” Officer Person called out before they could turn the corner. “We got a Hargreeves in Cell 3. Not a common name. You know him?”

 

Hargreeves didn’t respond, only cursing under his breath and backtracked quickly behind the wall to the holding cells.

 

Hank lingered, feeling an odd sort of obligation to wait for his temporary partner.

 

(And well. He made a living putting clues together. A bit of nosiness paid off his this line of work, he could admit it.)

 

Leaning against the wall, he observed his temporary partner and the other supposed Hargreeves.

 

“I can’t fucking believe this Klaus! Weren’t you in rehab like, _yesterday?_ You said you'd call if you got low, _”_ Hargreeves was ranting, scowl on his face. “I’m only here this late by chance!”

 

“How can you be this late by chance, big brother, if you _work_ here?” The man in the cell asked, wearing, of all thing, leather pants and a woman’s floral shirt.

 

“My partners out of state and I got reassigned another one who worked a case tonight. Shit, man. What time did you get here?” Even as he asked, Hargreeves strode forward and plucked up a tablet, tapping and scrolling for information.

 

The supposed brother strode up to the glass towards Hargreeves and Hank got a better look at him. His eyes were a pale green and bloodshot. He had a dark goatee and could no doubt use a good meal.

 

“Public indecency?” Hargreeves asked, eyebrows raised. “That’s _it_?”

 

“I know! I told the cop who arrested me he outta be thankful it was just alcohol making me misbehave but he cuffed me anyway.” The man complained, leaning his forehead and hands on the glass, like some kinda prisoner, watching Hargreeves plaintively with big eyes. “I’m already getting sober, Diego, bust me outta here. I’ve been good.”

 

The man’s hands were tattooed with _HELLO_ on his right and _GOODBYE_ with his left. Hank was reminded, of all things, a ouija board, even as he acknowledged the men were from a different generation than himself.

 

His left forearm had a tattoo faded umbrella, which was just plain _odd._ Symbolic maybe.

 

The more alarming part of arms, however, were the pockmarks on the insides of his elbows.

 

Hargreeves ranting made a bit more sense now, even as he sighed, “I’ve got an interrogation and I’ll get you after. Wait here,” he said, and began walking away to the interrogation room, ignoring his brother’s interested call of, “Interrogate who?”

 

Hank followed, uncertain if he should comment. Hargreeves’s brooding silence implied he wouldn’t respond anyway.

 

Or maybe he would. Just with a handful of mean words enough to make Hank wanna swing.

 

Hank had seen he and Reed at odds more times than he cared to count. Neither men were known for their patience and tended to pick fights with words meant to cut deep if they were caught in a bad mood.

 

Hank, with a bit of alcohol in him, could see the appeal in making another person swing first so you could get the pleasure of retaliating.

 

Fowler had moved Hargreeves’s desk further down the bullpen before he even worked a full month in the department five years ago, which most people still joked about out of Reed and Hargreeves’s hearing.

 

Thankfully the observation room was only down the hall and Hank didn’t have to hold his tongue anymore, sliding his hand on the scanner and entering the dark room.

 

Reed immediately scowled at Hargreeves and Hargreeves redirected his own scowl, present since he laid eyes on his brother, back at him.

 

The android observed this, sliding its eyes away from the glass partition separating them and Ortiz’s android.

 

“Let’s get this started then?” Chris suggested, looking between Reed and Hargreeves with a wary expression. “Maybe you should go first Hank?”

 

Hank pointedly walked between Hargreeves and Reed, breaking their stare-off. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled.

 

* * *

 

“Why’d you kill him?” He asked it.

 

Nothing. Not even an uncaring blink.

 

“What happened before you took that knife?” It was only thanks to the lapdog android that tagged along that Hank knew what happened prior to the knife. It explained the bat to him on the way to the precinct, how it was covered in _thirium_ , which explained why Hank couldn’t get it at a glance like the rest.

 

“How long were you in the attic? Why didn't you even try to run away?”

 

Still nothing.

 

“Say something, goddamnit!” He slammed a fist on the table, only to immediately regret it. The sound and quick movement sent a ringing through his skull. “Fuck it, I'm outta here.”

 

The leaving the bright interrogation cell to the observation room’s sparse lighting felt like a balm on his skull. 

 

He saw Hargreeves somehow managed to put the Miller between he and Reed, not that Miller looked happy about it.

 

The two were alike in more ways than not, but even Hank knew that for all Hargreeves enjoyed riling people up for the sake of distraction, he knew how to behave and still his tongue when on a case, thankfully.

 

“You’re next, kid.” Hank told Hargreeves, gesturing with his hand to give up his chair to Hank.

 

The idea of standing like Reed made his damn back ache.

 

Hargreeves didn’t protest being called a kid, though he did roll his eyes as he got up, walking out the door without so much as a huff.

 

In the few seconds between leaving the dark room and entering the interrogation room, Hargreeves lost his scowl.

 

His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were wider than usual, the way he had been taught by Fowler personally to come off as a non threat, an attempt to compensate for his thick scars and heavy brows.

 

“Did you kill Carlos Ortiz?” He asked, settling into the chair, not sparing the folder on the desk anymore thought than Hank had.

 

Predictably, the android didn’t respond, like it hadn’t the other times asked.

 

Hargreeves stared at it for a long moment before leaning closer, head bent low as though to share a secret. “Because I would understand why you did it,” he murmured.

 

It was an android, Hank thought. It can’t respond to usual interrogation or pseudo acts of empathy because it couldn’t _understand_ empathy.

 

And yet.

 

The android glanced up at Hargreeves, which was more than Reed or Hank could manage. The dried splatters of blood on its face was more macabre now that it finally held its face more towards the light than it had the whole time they’ve had it.

 

Inadvertently, Hank and Reed leaned closer to the glass at the same moment, neither acknowledging the brief unity.

 

“He looked like a mean son of a bitch. And with red ice in his system?” Hargreeves dragged his eyes down to where the android was shackled to the table, no doubt to make a show of looking at the countless burn marks and exposed white plastic where its skin failed to cover it. “Did he ever let you leave the house?”

 

The android shook its head so minutely, Hank would have missed it if he wasn’t staring so hard.

 

“He was dead for a while now. Why didn’t you run away? He couldn’t stop you,” Hargreeves leaned away from the android, staring above its head contemplatively. “Did you want to stay? Even after what he did to you?”

 

The room was silent and the android gradually lowered its head back to the position it held for an hour now.

 

Hargreeves lightly drummed his fingers on the table a few times before standing up, heading towards the door without another word.

 

“Where would I go.” The android said, raising its head once more, its face twisted and eyes bright as it looked at Hargreeves. The words didn’t bend like a question. Rather, it felt like an answer.

 

It stayed because it didn’t know anything else.

 

 _Son of a bitch_ , Hank thought.

 

Reed was practically up against the glass and Chris must have looked up from the tablet, chair squeaking as he rolled it closer to Reed to better observe as well.

 

The android at Hank’s side straightened its own shoulders but if it changed its expression, Hank couldn’t see, unwilling to tear his eyes away.

 

Hargreeves didn’t let any surprise show on his face, if he felt any at all, responding with a soft, “I really wish I knew.”

 

It proved to be the wrong thing to say. The android’s face dropped, shoulders rising once more, head ducking lower than before.

 

Hargreeves grimaced, shooting the one way glass an apologetic look, moving to the door and leaving.

 

The dark room briefly lit up as he entered it.

 

“You were doing good. Why’d you quit?” Chris asked, moving his chair to the back of the room once more.

 

“It was the right thing to do,” Hank intervened. “Because now it thinks Hargreeves wanted to know where to find others like it. If he pressed, it would have shut down more.”

 

Hargreeves nodded wordlessly, taking a seat with a scowl. “I should have asked about the clay statue we found instead of pressing for a location,” he grouched. “For my own curiosity if nothing else.”

 

“We're wastin' our time interrogating a machine,” Hank said instead. “We’re getting nothing out of it!”

 

Reed shrugged. “Could always try roughing it up some. It’s not like it’s human.”

 

Hargreeves shot him a disgusted look. “Human is where you draw the line? You kick dogs or something in your free time or something, man?”

 

Reed scowled right back, offended. “No, asshole. This thing doesn’t have nerve endings is what I’m getting at-”

 

“If it doesn’t have nerve endings,” Hargreeves pressed. “Then why the hell do think hitting it is gonna make it talk!”

 

Reed huffed, caught in his own words, turned and glared at the android through the glass. “Okay, what’s your bright idea then?”

 

Hargreeves didn’t respond, frowning at the android on the other side of the glass as well.

 

 _Two scar faced, six foot assholes in leather jackets facing the same direction_ , Hank mused. _If I didn’t know Reed was about six years older, I’d think they were twins._

 

Before Hank could decide whether or not he was in a good enough mood to deal with the fallout if he teased them, the android in the room piped up with a, “ _I_ could try questioning it.”

 

Reed let out a huff of disbelieving laughter that trailed into silence when nobody joined. He looked at Hargreeves first, who let out a long hum, then to Hank who shrugged. “What do we have to lose? It’s all yours.” He told it.

 

The android stared into the interrogation room for a long moment before walking smoothly out the door and into the interrogation room.

 

Hank watched the thing open the case folder and leave it open between it and the other android.

 

“I detect an instability in your program,” it told the deviant. “It can trigger an unpleasant feeling, like fear in humans.”

 

Predictably nothing happened.

 

“My name is Connor. What’s your name?”

 

Dead silence besides Chris bouncing his damn leg behind Hank.

 

The photos from the crime scene were pushed closer to the deviant.

 

“You recognize him? It's Carlos Ortiz. Stabbed twenty-eight times. That was written on the wall in his blood.”

 

Nothing. Against the wall, Reed let out a heavy sigh, looking at Hank as if to say _I told you so._

 

“You're accused of murder. You know you're not allowed to endanger human life under any circumstances. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” Connor continued. When the deviant didn’t respond, it pressed, “You don't seem to understand the situation. You killed a human. They'll tear you apart if you don't say something.”

 

Connor must have seen something Hank couldn’t because it kept going.

 

“I'm here to help you. But you've got to trust me. All I want is to get you out of here.”

 

Slowly, so slowly, the deviant lifted its head and turned it towards the one sided mirror, then to its fellow android. “What…what are they gonna do to me? They’re going to destroy me, aren’t they?” Its voice was little more than a whisper.

 

“They're going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents.”

 

Hank thought that sounded brutal. Would the deviant see it that way? It shifted like it did.

 

“They have no choice if they want to understand what happened," Connor continued.

 

“Why did you tell them you found me? Why couldn’t you have just left me there?”

 

“I was programmed to hunt deviants like you. I just accomplished my mission.”

 

Hargreeves fidgeted with his fingers. “Does he really call his orders missions? What the hell is up with that,” he asked Hank.

 

“Fuck, I’ve only known it ten minutes longer than you. Hell if I know.”

 

“Android detectives calling cases _missions_ hardly bodes well for suspects,” Reed noted, not looking away from the scene. “Cops already got a rep for brutality. Add in bots that don’t know how to let some things slide?” He shook his head in disgust and Hank couldn’t blame him.

 

Inside the interrogation room, the android was now threatening deviant with dismemberment, becoming hostile towards it without any transition.

 

_Fucking machine._

 

“ _Twenty-eight times!_ ” It snapped so suddenly that Chris and Hargreeves jumped.

 

“Christ,” Reed muttered.

 

“Confess,” Connor urged gently. “And I can protect you.” Again, switching tones so fast Hank was getting whiplash just watching.

 

Once more, the deviant glanced at the glass separating them before looking back to Connor. “He tortured me everyday. I did whatever he told me, but there was always something wrong. And one day… he took a bat and started hitting me…”

 

Next to Hank, Chris was tapping rapidly on his tablet and zooming in on the video. Hank knew damn well a confession was coming.

 

“For the first time, I felt _scared_. Scared I might die...so I...grabbed the knife and I stabbed him in the stomach...I felt better...so I stabbed him again and again! Until he collapsed. There was blood everywhere.”

 

Connor nodded along, unphased. “And the statue in the bathroom? You made it, right? What does it represent?”

 

“It’s an offering. So I’ll be saved.”

 

Hank and Hargreeves shared a look, ignoring Reed’s “What statue?”

 

Chris mumbled an explanation to Reed, head bowed still.

 

“An offering to who?” Connor asked.

 

“rA9...only rA9 can save us.”

 

Hank was getting officially creeped out, jaw clenched right. He chanced a glance at Hargreeves to see him stock still, eyes on the deviant.

 

“The day shall come when we will no longer be slaves...No more threats, no more humiliation.” The deviant looked at at the glass partition separating them then back to Connor, voice lowering. “We will be...the masters.”

 

The observation room was silent.

 

“And when did you start feeling emotion?”

 

“When he used to beat me and I never said anything. But it wasn’t fair! I felt anger and...and hatred. I knew what I had to do.”

 

For a moment the androids just stared at one another. One in dried blood with desperate eyes and the other in a crisp tie, expressionless.

 

“I’m done,” Connor announced, sliding out of its chair and looking at the one way glass.

 

Reed was out the door first, followed by Hargreeves. Hank waited for Chris to get up before leaving as well.

 

“Chris, lock it up,” Reed ordered the moment the door to the interrogation room slid open.

 

“All right, let's go,” Chris moved forward, hand reaching for the key to unlock the deviant from the table restraints.

 

“Leave me alone!” It snapped, hunching inwards. “Don't touch me!”

 

Chris’s hands hovered awkwardly around it, trying to reach its wrists.

 

“The fuck are you doing?” Reed snapped at him. “Move it!”

 

Hargreeves sighed and moved forward towards the deviant. Grabbing it roughly by the shoulders from behind to pull it up from its hunch, he muttered, “Hurry it up, Chris. Let’s get this done.”

 

“Okay, come now,” Chris wheedled, leaning down to get its hands. “Don't be difficult, it'll only make things harder!”

 

“No, don't touch me!” It cried out, jerking back suddenly.

 

Quicker than Hank could comprehend, the thing reached forward and plucked Chris’s gun from his holster with his free left hand.

 

Hargreeves managed a “ _Fuck!”_ and with a quick jerk, he reached out with his left hand and grasped the deviants wrist and twisted it, his right arm moving to wrap around the deviant’s left.

 

The gun went off went off with a deafening _pop_ and Hank instinctively ducked behind the table, hearing the gun hit the ground with a _clack_.

 

Hank caught sight of both the deviant and Hargreeves on the floor, the android facedown with its arms behind its back.

 

“ _Cuffs!”_ Hargreeves was shouting before the deviant bucked him off with its inhuman strength.

 

Not a second later and Connor had taken Hargreeves’s place with a knee on the deviants back, and another on the back of the deviant’s own knee.

 

The whole room stood still.

 

A good two seconds in silence passed and Chris fell to his knees beside Connor and began fumbling with the handcuffs.

 

Hargreeves reached over and took over when it was clear Chris’s hands were shaking too much.

 

Hank slowly stood up and caught sight of Reed, who must have grabbed the gun when it hit the ground. The detective rose from his own crouch from the other end of the table, where he had the gun pointed at the motley crew on the floor.

 

He had no doubt Reed would have pulled the trigger the moment he had the gun had Hargreeves not been so tangled with the deviant.

 

The one sided interrogation glass had caught the stray bullet, though the whole thing would have to be replaced now. It was bulletproof but the thing looked one more bullet away from shattering entirely.  

 

The door slid open and Officer Brown stepped in, hand resting on his gun at his waist and eyes assessing the room, Officer Person right behind him.

 

“We heard shots fired, Lieutenant,” he said, pulling his gun out and training it on the androids when he caught sight of Reed's hostile stance, yet to lower his weapon.

 

Hank turned back to the deviant, its expression upset, arms restrained by both cuffs and another android.

 

“Weapons down,” he ordered, staring Reed down until he complied. “Is anybody injured?”

 

Negatives from Reed and Hargreeves, somehow. He eyed the younger man down but he seemed to be telling the truth, hands clenching and eyes darting to the deviant and its cuffs.

 

Chris reported a ringing ear and Hank personally thought he looked too pale and clammy.

 

“Officer Brown, assist the Connor android in taking the deviant to a holding cell. Chris, you’ll need to file a report on the bullet missing from your gun tomorrow. Reed, stick with him for any signs of shock. Make sure he contacts his wife and gets medical treatment for his ear.” At this Reed finally averted his eyes from the androids and turned to Chris, eyeing him up and down.

 

There was mumbling down the hallway, audible even from here.

 

“Officer Person, have everybody get back to work.”

 

“Sir.” She nodded and left his sight.

 

“Connor,” he addressed. The android looked at him from where it was eyeing Chris. “Contact Cyberlife. I want that thing outta here.”

 

Its LED wavered yellow for a second, its eyes blinking rapidly. “Done, Lieutenant. A Cyberlife vehicle will be here in one hours time to retrieve the deviant.”

 

Hank nodded, shifting on his feet as Brown stalked forward, eyeing the cracked one way glass, to help escort the deviant to a cell.

 

Reed was directing Miller out the door, muttering lowly to him all the while. Miller nodded along, rubbing the side of his jaw.

 

Hank turned to Hargreeves who immediately informed him, “I’m not doing my paperwork until tomorrow.”

 

Neither was Hank, frankly. But _he_ was a Lieutenant, as he just demonstrated. “Neither am I,” he admitted. “But I outrank you. What’s your excuse?”

 

“Well, wouldn’t you know it. I received a call to pick up my little brother from the police station. That’s a family emergency.”

 

“You little shit,” Hank said, unable to help his grin.

 

Hargreeves grinned back, cocky as hell. “See you tomorrow Lieutenant. Don’t be late.” He strode out the door.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” he called back belatedly, following.

 

He saw Hargreeves turn take a right to the holding cells where a few officers had gathered to watch the deviant get locked in its new cell.

 

To his left he saw Reed and Chris in the break room, Officer Person dropping snacks in front of Chris, who had a phone to his left ear. He gave Reed a brief nod when he looked up and received a nod back.

 

He grimaced while it did it but Hank didn’t give a shit.

 

“-can’t believe you almost got shot! You really live for this Dark Knight routine, huh-” a voice was saying loudly from behind the courtesy wall in front of the cells as he walked by it. Knowing now this was Hargreeves’s brother, he continued on.

 

He noted that news traveled faster around the holding cells than he cared for though.

 

Hank pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. _12:55_.

 

Yeah, he was definitely going to be late tomorrow. He could already see Fowler’s pissed face in his mind.

 

He couldn’t care right now thought. He just couldn’t. His body was too sober and he apparently got saddled with a new partner (however temporary) and a damn android. In the morning he’d have to made a long, detailed report due to the fired weapon and probably have order a new glass window personally rather than delegate to sate Fowler’s impending fury.

 

He was mostly past the security gate when he caught sight of the rain through the front windows, sighing as he backtracked to his desk to pluck up his jacket.

 

“ _We’re going now live to a breaking story_ ,” a newscaster announced eagerly from he heard from the projector overhead.

 

Hank glanced up, shoving his arms through his sleeves, wondering if Russia finally sent a nuke at the United States.

 

“ _Moments ago, police reported the death of the eccentric and reclusive billionaire, Sir Reginald Hargreeves. It is unknown at the time how the billionaire has come to pass. He was well known for-_ ”

 

Hank would have rolled his eyes if it wouldn’t have agitated his headache. Just another rich dead guy. Probably OD’d off red ice. Hopefully the guy had some good charities picked out in his will.

 

“Oh shit,” he heard behind him.

 

Turning, he saw Hargreeves’s brother sitting in his brother’s chair, eyes wide as he watched the projector, hands frozen where they were tugging on his brother’s fingerless gloves he left on his desk.

 

Hargreeves was already marching over, irritation clear in every stomp of his boots. “Klaus, get your scrawny ass the hell outta my chair. I already agreed to get your damn jacket from the iHop, _let's go_.”

 

“Brother dear-”

 

“ _Klaus._ ”

 

“Diego, c’mon, look-”

 

Hank felt a pang of pity for Hargreeves. His brother was clearly on something stronger than alcohol. He wasn’t showing symptoms of red ice (Hank would _know_ ) but there was _something_ going on with him.

 

“Diego, look there!” Klaus was pointing at the screen with his left hand, his now gloved right hand reaching out to grip his brother’s shoulder.

 

Despite himself, Hank turned to where the finger was pointing as well.

 

“ _-also an Olympic gold medalist for fencing and recipient of the Nobel Prize for his work on cerebral advancement-”_ the newscaster was droning. The screen showed an image of the dead billionaire wearing, of all things, a monocle. “ _Sir Hargreeves was reportedly-_ ”

 

 _Hargreeves_ , Hank thought with a wash of realization. _Oh._

 

Practically snapping his neck to look back at the Hargreeves brothers, he saw Hargreeves staring at the screen, his mouth slightly open.

 

Klaus was nodding to himself. “Time to see the whole gang again now, huh. Yikes. This definitely calls for some weed, at the very least. Or, you know, popping champagne.” His eyes kept darting to the left, frowning slightly. “Mind your business,” he muttered. And then, “You know what I meant!”

 

“Sir, my family emergency is gonna stretch a little longer,” Hargreeves said, eyes meeting Hank’s, seeming to not notice his brother talking to empty air. He mentally revised _addict brother_ to _crazy brother_ . Klaus proceeded to scratch at his wrists, eyes still staring at empty air.  _Both maybe._

 

Hank awkwardly glanced up at the news report. He didn’t _seem_ upset at his father’s? death but maybe it hasn’t sunken in.

 

“You’ll still need to email Fowler. The standard time is a week, Hargreeves, but if you need-” he tried to say.

 

Scoffing, Hargreeves grabbed his brother’s elbow and started dragging him out towards the security gate “I just need a day!” He called back. “And call me Diego!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can yall believe Markus gets shot, Kara flees with Alice, Connor meets Hank, and the UA kiddos find out their dad died at midnight the same night? and that the uprising happens in a week like the apocalypse takes a week? wild.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter was Hank POV to establish Diego's role in the force. Let me know if I should bother continuing bc both fandoms are...small.


	2. coming up only to hold you under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("Imagine a story where everything goes wrong, where everyone has their back against the wall, where everyone is in pain and acting selfishly because if they don’t, they’ll die. Imagine a story, not of good against evil, but of need against need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone is to blame.”)
> 
> -Richard Siken

**Nov 6, 2038**

 

Diego knew, just _knew_ his day was going to be stressful as hell before he even left bed. Knew that he’d rather be handling the body of a man that’s been rotting for nineteen days than deal with his mess of a family.

 

He had gone to bed angry, ordering Klaus to the guest bedroom with an order to wake him if he left in the middle of the night.

 

There were complaints about the bed not having sheets that were only silenced when Diego hurled two blankets at him.

 

So what if the guest room only had a single dresser and he never bought bedsheets for the bed in there? He was never home anyway and it’s not like people often stayed over.

 

He was sitting on a nice nest egg at the moment. He was saving to buy a nice house in full. One with a bigger backyard than Eudora’s provided.

 

One day.

 

He was woken up sometime around three in the morning, not by his brother, but by his phone blaring on the couch down the hall from his jacket pocket.

 

Forced to put his bare feet on the cold floor, he was a little snappier than he meant to be when Pogo tried passing on the news of his father’s death and to _please come by today for the arrangements_ -

 

Tired as he was, Diego forgot entirely to press for _how_ his father died.

 

After hanging up, he was forced to squint at his too bright phone screen as he belatedly remembered to compose an email to request the day off from Fowler.

 

And because it was shaping up to be that kinda _day_ , his phone died just as the email delivered. His charger was in the car and Diego couldn’t be paid enough money to go outside when his bed was _right there_.

 

How did the media even get wind of their father being dead before Pogo could get ahold of his own damn kids? The old man wouldn’t go to a hospital if Mom was there to handle him. He was known as a _reclusive_ billionaire for a reason.

 

Speaking of, he had to ask Mom what her opinions on other androids were. The idea of androids being able to break free of their own programming…

 

He rubbed his arms as he gathered clothes for a shower, wondering if he should bother eating breakfast. There was a lingering of something _hot_ in this throat and he couldn’t keep his jaw unclenched.

 

It felt a lot like anger, an old friend.

 

Maybe he should kill a few hours at work for a distraction, if nothing else.

 

No, no. The Lieutenant knew who he was now. Now that they’re partnered together, it’s only a matter of time before he can stop yielding questions about the Umbrella Academy.

 

He didn’t even talk to _Eudora_ about his family, though he suspected she knew who they were anyway, after all these years.

 

Just softer anecdotes here and there were the most he could share, when he, rare as it was, had a memory of his childhood that could be applied in casual conversation.

 

He was sure at least half the department knew who he used to be. When he graduated from the Academy, he worked the Southwestern precinct before he broke another Officer’s nose for suggesting Diego had an unfair advantage with his background.

 

He had to transfer to Central after that.

 

Fowler wouldn’t even allow him a promotion to Detective until he completed six months of therapy, which he bucked until Eudora got promoted without him.

 

Of course, if _Vanya_ hadn’t written her tell all shitty, best seller book-

 

Diego took a deep breath and forced his hands to unclench from his clothes, kicking the bathroom door more open lightly with his foot.

 

“Seriously, dude?” He asked, retreating a step.

 

“Hm? Morning, brother,” Klaus greeted from the bathtub. “Isn’t it a beautiful day? The birds are singing, the sun is shining, daddy is dead-”

 

“It’s supposed to rain today,” Diego corrected, frowning. “Close the door next time.”

 

He shut the door and backtracked to his bedroom. Deciding to save the shower for later, he’d make the most of his time and head to the coroner's office.

 

He dressed in a light blue turtleneck and jeans, shoving his badge into his back pocket in case the report wasn’t ready. Standard procedure meant a coroner report would take up to two weeks of processing without cause to push forward.

 

Today wasn’t a good day to skip breakfast if he was going to work on his temper but his fridge was, unfortunately, empty.

 

Takeout for lunch it’d be then.

 

Klaus was clearly not leaving the bathtub anytime soon. Diego debated with himself for a long, long moment if he could trust Klaus not to steal his shit if left alone.

 

Diego had half a mind to invite him to tag along to the coroner’s office before realizing Klaus would likely never willingly step a hundred feet within a place that studied the dead.

 

 _Why would he steal from me,_ Diego reasoned, _if Dad has more expensive shit to take now that he’s dead_.

 

“Klaus!” He shouted down the hall, plucking his keys off the key rack. “Don’t steal my shit! Be ready to leave by noon for the get together!”

 

He waited for an affirmative before he opened the front door. He received a, “You don’t even have good shit to sell but okay!”

 

Good enough for him.

 

He locked the door behind him, ignoring the eyes he could feel on his back from his creepy ass neighbor in 4B.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, I’m wondering if the coroner report for Sir Reginald Hargreeves has been completed?”

 

The secretary behind the counter, an android, gave him a pleasant look. “Here’s a form you can sign. May I see some form of identification, sir?”

 

“Of course,” he agreed. Diego pulled his wallet out from his pocket, plucking out his ID and passing it over. “I’m his son,” he said, and pasted a mournful look on his face.

 

The android didn’t seem to care, given dealing with grieving family members all day was the norm for her, or otherwise unable to empathize. She gave his ID an intent look before passing it back along with the form and a pen.

 

Filling out the form and turning it in took him a good five minutes but he barely had time to return to his seat before a man called out, “Mr. Hargreeves?” from the main doorway leading further into the building.

 

Despite the fact there were people who’d arrived before him, Diego was immediately ushered to another room and into a small office by the small, nervous looking man in a white coat.

 

 _This is hardly a good sign_ , he thought, eyeing the sweat on the man’s forehead.

 

“Please, take a seat, sir,” the man, Dr. Dwayne Kareem, according to the desk plaque said.

 

“I’d rather not,” Diego tried for a rueful look. “The funeral is in a few hours and we need to start preparations still, you understand. I’d like to-” Diego took a shuddering breath, breaking eye contact. “I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible, please.”

 

The man’s eyes went soft. “Yes, yes of course. Sir Hargreeves was quite a man with no small amount of accomplishments under his belt. He was never one to dally with his time. I see he’s passed that on to you.”

 

Diego clenched his jaw, and it was a miracle alone he was able to choke out, “He was a great man.” Feeling his jaw ache at the words.

 

Dr. Kareem began sorting through the paperwork on his desk, politely averting his eyes as Diego took a shuddering breath, desperate to calm himself.  

 

“I understand,” he began, allowing his voice to crack. Taking in another breath, Diego repeated, “I understand the paperwork may not be completed at the time, given how soon it’s been but…” he trailed off.

 

The doctor took the hint. “No, the paperwork has been completed already. Normally, it takes a few weeks to process but in this case,” he lowered his head and gave Diego an intent look. “Sir Hargreeves, being...who he was, took priority.”

 

Diego had no doubt a bit of extra money had been put in the man’s account by Pogo himself to rush things along.

 

“Can I take a copy of the report with me?” He asked. “It’d give my brothers and sisters peace of mind, if nothing else.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Hargreeves.” Digging through the files again, Dr. Kareem pulled out a crisp white report, passing it over.

 

Diego’s eyes darted over the more relevant information on the paper.

 

_Hargreeves, Reginald_

_DOB: Jan. 1, 1968 … Unknown Location._

_Body Submitted: Nov. 5, 2038 @ 20:15_

 

 _From anatomical findings and patient history, I ascribe death to:_ _Heart failure_

 

The bottom of the paper was signed by Dr. Dwayne Kareem, the chief medical examiner.

 

Across the desk, the man himself fidgeted with the buttons on his coat, eyes looking everywhere but at Diego.

 

“Is his body still here?” Diego heard himself ask, unable to summon the grieving son act

 

“No, sir. Your father’s beneficiary, Mrs. Hargreeves, as represented by Mr. Pogo, requested the body be cremated as soon as possible,” Dr. Kareem said. “She paid-” the man’s voice cracked. “She paid extra, that is, for us to bring the ashes to the manse, rather than retrieving it themselves. Quite the reclusive family, indeed!” He gave out a high, nervous laugh.

 

Diego was quiet for a long moment, hands resting on the backseat of the guest chair, as he watched the coroner begin to sweat in the air conditioned office.

 

 _Reclusive is one word for it_ , Diego thought.

 

One thing Vanya left out of her book was that the woman they grew up calling _Mom_ was an android.

 

That Reginald Hargreeves beat Elijah Kamski out by a good seven years on an android that could pass the Turing Test and _didn’t_ announce it to the world was one of the few things the man did right, in Diego’s opinion.

 

He was more focused on studying his kids to tell anyone about that particular breakthrough.

 

Of course, it was just as likely he never said anything because he simply didn’t think Mom was worth bragging about.

 

Pogo, however, was well known to the world. He was older than Diego and somehow still held the title of the world's _only_ talking ape. Dad’s money and influence allowed Pogo legal citizenship, a passport, and his own social security number.

 

Vanya has been kind to Pogo in her book.

 

Dr. Kareem’s nervousness could easily be due to the fact he spoke to Pogo personally. Majority of the world would never speak to a sentient ape, apparently. It was probably unnerving. Probably.

 

Not like Diego has ever known a life where Pogo wasn’t part of the foundations of his childhood.

 

“Thank you for your time,” he said, reaching out a hand to shake.

 

Dr. Kareem’s hand was sweaty.

 

* * *

  

Diego stopped at Griddy’s Doughnuts for lunch, ordering five eggs and a donut, taking a burger to go when he remembered he left Klaus alone in his foodless apartment and that he’d have to turn back around and pick him up.

 

The waitress that took his order, a middle aged woman named Agnes, had been working there since before Diego first found the place when he first left home when he was seventeen.

 

He remembered she had put his meal on the house and sent him away with some free donuts to go, the first kindness he’d been given since he walked out the door.

 

Diego always tipped her twenty bucks these days, always an unspoken thanks.

 

Remembering he left Klaus at home turned out to be for the best when it reminded him he had neglected to take a shower this morning.

 

Diego didn’t respect his father’s memory in the slightest but even _his_ standards wouldn’t let him show up to the second family funeral with the rot of a nineteen day old corpse him.

 

He wondered if they even noticed in the coroner’s office.

 

 _Dad’s body and Ortiz’s might have been side by side on the slabs last night,_ Diego thought, feeling his stomach churn.

 

Must have been bad eggs.

 

Once he got home and dropped the greasy bag on Klaus’s stomach, who was sprawled on his couch, a glass of Diego’s whiskey in hand, he took a quick shower.

 

It was a quick shower. Klaus had somehow used up all the hot water, the little shit.

 

Diego tied a towel around his waist as he rifled through his clothes for a black turtleneck, which was an issue as most of his clothes were black.

 

“Klaus!” He called out once he found it and began tugging it over his head. “Hurry up! I wanna get there early!”

 

“Why on _earth_ ,” Klaus asked from the doorway, burger in hand. “-would we wanna get there early?”

 

“So we can go through Dad’s shit before Luther can,” he said, tugging on his underwear, backtracking to the bathroom to get his pants, socks, and boots.

 

By the time he was back in the living room, Klaus had put his black, fur lined coat on and had apparently gone through the back of Diego’s closet and taken a pair of boots.

 

Diego remembered the holes in Klaus’s shoes the night before and didn’t comment, leading him out to his car, continuing his trend of keeping his mouth shut when his brother sat in the backseat instead of the passenger at Diego’s side.

 

“Nothing changes does it,” he heard Klaus mumble the way he did when he wasn’t speaking to an actual person.

 

“I think Pogo paid off the coroner to say Dad died of heart failure,” Diego said before he could think it through.

 

“What, why?” Klaus burst out after a beat of silence. “Wait, he died of heart failure? Is that a painful way to go?”

 

Turning to glare at his brother, Diego pointed a threatening finger at him, who looked startled. “If I tell you, I don’t want a single word of this repeated until I figured it out. Clear?”

 

“Uh, yeah, crystal.”

 

He stared at Klaus a bit harder, even though he knew if he was lying it wouldn’t show.

 

Nobody could lie like an addict.

 

“The coroner was shifty as hell,” Diego admitted. “Couldn’t let me see the body because Pogo requested Dad be cremated immediately after the autopsy. His voice kept cracking every time money was brought up.”

 

“Hate to break it to you, but my voice cracks when money is brought up as well.”

 

Diego rolled his eyes. “You’re not a coroner though. Standard processing is a few weeks. Most funerals don’t take place for a few days after the death. Pogo said to be there today, not eight hours after Dad stopped kicking.”

 

“So Pogo paid him under the table to rush things along. It’s what rich people do,” Klaus dismissed. “Hey, did Dad give Pogo all the money, you think?”

 

“Pogo’s always had access to his bank account,” Diego said. “Shits just not lining up if this was standard.”

 

“A billionaire dying _isn’t_ standard, Diego. Money talks is all,” Klaus said in a tone that might have been pitying.

 

It was hard to tell sometimes what mood Klaus was trying to project in his voice, always singsong or mocking. Only serious on his come downs.

 

Adjusting his rear view mirror, he saw Klaus scratching the back of his neck before he angled it to the street.

 

 _Nobody lies like an addict_ , he told himself, trying not to feel disappointed in Klaus all the same.

 

Diego turned on the music and drove, regretting trying to confide in his brother.

 

* * *

 

“Home sweet home, huh,” Klaus said when they arrived.

 

Their childhood home consisted of forty-three bedrooms, nineteen bathrooms, and a single kitchen that was a basement before Dad converted it with less effort than it called for. The outside looked like a bunch of mismatched stone buildings and took up most of the city block.

 

Diego parked across the street and together he and Klaus leaned against the car and stared at the front entrance.

 

Klaus fumbled around his pockets and pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, offering the box to Diego first, who shook his head, before lighting his own.

 

Diego was only grateful it wasn’t anything hard, but wasn’t naive to think Klaus wasn’t waiting until Diego left for that.

 

He waited until Klaus had mostly finished his cigarette before taking a bracing breath, inhaling what nicotine he could from his brother’s exhale, and made his way across the street.

 

Diego wondered if he was supposed to knock now. He’d rather not.

 

He swung open the door to the main entrance, half surprised it was unlocked, and was immediately hit by something too upsetting to be called nostalgia when the smell hit him.

 

Dust motes played in the air as weak daylight pushed through the windows. The lights on the chandelier were on but seemed more dull now than he remembered.

 

He tossed his keys in the small bowl on the side table near the doorway, eyeing the stuffed bird there before turning away.

 

Catching sight of the staircase, muscle memory almost took over as he leaned in that direction, horrified at himself.

 

_Seventeen years of muscle memory beats out thirteen of unlearning it._

 

“Master Diego,” he heard, a voice as familiar as this place.

 

“Pogo,” he greeted, turning to greet the ape, his voice softer than he expected.

 

And _oh,_ had he aged. His back was always hunched in Diego’s memory, always accompanied with a walking stick; Apes weren’t meant to be upright 24/7 like Pogo had to. But his hair had gone white on his chin and had thinned more on his head.  And if Diego was looking right, his eyeglasses looked thicker as well.

 

Pogo opened his arms in clear invitation and Diego leaned down and embraced him, his body as soft as ever.

 

The way Pogo gripped him tightly through the hug was a bit unexpected though.

 

Releasing him, Pogo used his cane to take a few steps away from him.  Giving him a long look over, Pogo smiled and said, “Congratulations on your promotion, Detective Hargreeves.” He began walking to the living room, gesturing for Diego to sit across from him.

 

Diego felt his stomach sink, and it had nothing to do with bad eggs or Five’s unaging portrait above the fireplace.

 

Pogo couldn’t have known about the promotion unless Dad had known as well.

 

But maybe that didn’t matter anymore. Everything Pogo knew from here on out would _never_ be known by his father.

 

Forcing himself to relax, he allowed himself to admit to Pogo, knowing he would never admit to his siblings, “I actually wasn’t allowed to have any promotions unless I underwent six months of therapy. Nobody cared about who I was until Vanya’s book came out.”

 

“Vanya’s book…” Pogo trailed off.

 

“Was just to vent,” Diego interjected before he could defend her. “Yeah, that’s what the therapist said. Kind of held me back for a while anyway.”

 

Pogo sighed, instead saying, “Your stutter is gone, Master Diego. I’m glad to see it.”

 

“I went to a speech therapist when I was eighteen,” he said, feeling bitter. “It only took two months for me to get it right.” _With an occasional flare up,_ he didn’t want to add.

 

Dad couldn’t be bothered to hire anyone to help him. Almost two decades of words getting caught in his mouth solved in two months.

 

“How did Dad die, Pogo?” He asked before before anything can come from Pogo’s flinch, or the way his eyes lowered or how his mouth opened to defend his father, no matter the crime.

 

“I found him in his bed last night. I was to alert him if I had any breakthroughs with an experiment I was testing. He had no pulse,” he sighed regretfully. “The coroner alerted me immediately, post autopsy, that his heart failed him.”

 

 _His heart failed him long before last night_ , Diego thought.

 

But if there was going to be a time for him to confront Pogo about how shifty and unreliable the coroner looked, it’d be now.

 

In the foyer, the sound of the front door being swung open as loudly as possible was heard.

 

“This place hasn’t changed in the _slightest_!” Klaus's voice rang out.

 

Pogo sighed. “I’ll greet your brother then, shall I?” He said, rising to his feet with his cane.

 

Diego watched him hobble away without a word before rising to his feet and making way to the kitchen downstairs into the house.

 

He heard her humming before he saw her, and something in his chest tightened at the sound.

 

She was scrubbing the kitchen table, no doubt in preparation of the family returning today.

 

“Mom,” he said.

 

“Diego,” she greeted, her smile ever present as she abandoned her cleaning gloves and lightly opening her arms for a hug.

 

He looked at her for a moment, taking in her victory curls and red lips, unchanged after all these years. Her long, flared skirt and collared blouse were more vintage to him now than before, more aware of what the real world could offer for clothing than when he was as a teenager.

 

“Diego?” She questioned, arms lowering.

 

He pulled her into a hug before they could drop all the way.

 

She smelt like the house and it comforted him in a way it left him upset not five minutes ago. Her body had more give than a Cyberlife android, her synthetic skin and hair couldn’t be retracted like theirs could, full of wires instead of blue blood to keep her running.

 

The feeling of being in her arms was so familiar to Diego couldn’t help but feel something _unfamiliar_ in her embrace. There something hard pressing against his elbow where it was bent around her waist.

 

“I was so glad to know I would be able to see all my children again, today,” she told him, stepping away. “I’ve spent the morning cleaning, though I know you all will leave it messy again before long!”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, feeling a phantom press against his elbow, glancing at her waist. “You know us, Mom.”

 

Now that Diego was looking, he could see an imprint of something round just behind the bend of her skirt.

 

 _She doesn’t have pockets_ , he told himself. _She probably put something there for later so she wouldn’t have to backtrack rooms._

 

“Mom,” he asked. “What’s in your skirt?”

 

“My shirt, silly,” Mom told him, letting out a soft laugh the way she used to when he or his siblings asked her ridiculous questions.

 

Diego took a step towards her, reaching a hand towards her waist, hesitating before his fingers could touch her.

 

If she were human, she likely would have stepped away by now  for more personal space. Instead, her feet stayed as fixed in place as her red smile.

 

He pinched the top of her skirt and pulled it back, her belt, thankfully, kept her skirt close to her body.

 

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” She asked, unmoving.

 

Diego plucked out his father’s monocle from her skirt.

 

Almost a month after the act, Carlos Ortiz’s android had stayed in his owners home because he had never known anything else.

 

 _It wasn’t fair_ , the deviant said last night, covered in his owner’s blood. _I did what I had to do._

 

“Why don’t you wait in the main room for everyone, Mom?” Diego heard himself say. “Klaus just got here. He’s missed you, too.”

 

“I’ve missed him so much, too. Sounds like a plan,” she agreed, finally stepping away and putting away the cleaning supplies under the sink.

 

Diego put the monocle in his back pocket against the coroner report, feeling an odd urge to call Hank for his opinion on deviancy.

 

He dismissed the urge easily, remembering the anti-android slogans plastered all over the man’s desk at work.

 

He took the long way around to the front door, not wanting to see Pogo, and was startled when he bumped into Allison, of all people, before he could make it to the foyer.

 

“Diego?” She asked, smoothing down her unwrinkled top. “I didn’t know you were here already. This place is so big.”

 

She was as beautiful as always but Diego couldn’t shake the chill that had come over him, feeling only a modicum of warmth for his sister, the one who always stood to his left in the lineups.

 

“Not big enough,” he mumbled anyway, desperate to avoid conversation, taking care to walk around her, rather than bump her shoulder as he was half tempted to do for old times sake.

 

He grasped his keys from the side table and went to his car, lingering inside it even after he found his phone charger.

 

Rather than take the front entrance again and risk running into his family, he walked around to one of the many side doors that were locked.

 

Picking it easily, Diego opened the door that led to what almost passed for a simple hallway, if not for the bat skulls hanging from the ceiling or the stuffed bear standing at the end of it.

 

Growing up, he used to believe these things were ordinary to have in homes.

 

Shaking his head, he took the thin staircase, hidden behind a door.

 

Six turns and another staircase later, he made to his old room. He tried not to linger, only staying long enough to plug his charger into the wall and connect his phone.

 

It was too dead to turn immediately.

 

Which was fine because he had a dead man’s room to investigate.

 

Dad’s room was on the other end of the house, almost completely opposite of their own and another story higher. It had a corner view that allowed him to observe the streets, unlike their own.

 

Diego could only remember being in it once, for reasons he couldn’t remember. It had left no lasting impression as a child.

 

As an adult, he couldn’t help but judge his father _more_.

 

As a child, Diego grew up surrounded by expensive items and stuffed exotic animals. None, however in his room, unlike Sir Reginald, apparently.

 

Ignoring these things, which passed as ordinary in this household, came easy.

 

He quickly inspected the room for any sign of Mom.

 

There wasn’t any, but he was relieved to search for her and come up short.

 

She must not have been in here since he died, because the bedsheets were unmade.

 

Making his way to the main room downstairs with nothing to show for it was a load off his shoulders.

 

He ignored Klaus, who ignored him in turn as they passed on the main staircase. They both knew what Klaus was getting up to.

 

* * *

 

Mom had taken Diego’s words to heart about waiting in the living room. She had taken a seat facing the fireplace, smiling up at Number Five’s portrait.

 

“Mom?” He asked.

 

It took a good ten seconds before she blinked away from the fireplace to look at him. “Yes, dear?”

 

“Why did you have Dad’s monocle?”

 

He watched her but she didn’t react, eventually turning away to stare into the fireplace blankly.

 

Diego stepped away, unnerved and anxious.

 

“Mom?” He heard a small voice call from the foyer.

 

Mom didn’t react to Vanya’s call.

 

Diego listened as Allison greeted their last sister warmly, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, somehow keeping an even tone, glancing away from Mom and striding under the archways and into the foyer where his sisters were now embracing. “You have the gall to show up here after what you did?”

 

 _Don’t pick a fight_ , he tried telling himself. _Just get through today without swinging._

 

Doing this meant he couldn’t be near Vanya or he’d boil over, words unsaid on his behalf to her whereas she told the entire world exactly what she thought about him.

 

“You’re seriously gonna do this today?” Allison asked as he made his way past them to the stairs, avoiding contact again with Allison. “Way to dress for the occasion, by the way,” she called up.

 

“At least I’m wearing black,” was all he could say in response as he lumbered up the steps and wandered the halls.

 

Did Allison expect him to show up in fucking Valentino because she did? What little good will he felt at seeing her in person was dwindling by the hour.

 

 _Calm down_ , he could almost hear his old therapist scold when he got worked up. _Pace if you must, but don’t speak until you can take an even breath_.

 

He killed time doing just that, pacing about the house and peering into empty bedrooms until his heart stopped pounding and he heard loud creaks from the loose floorboards through the wall to Diego’s right.

 

He allowed himself to pause for a few seconds before reminding himself it was his childhood home, not a crime scene. Chances were, the only other person who’d willingly walk into Dad’s room post mortem would be Luther or Klaus.

 

Klaus wasn’t a coward, but surely even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to get caught in Dad’s bedroom.

 

Three long strides later revealed, lo and behold…

 

Luther.

 

He was fussing with the curtains and fidgeting with the window locks at the far end of Dad’s room. Diego gave himself a moment to assess Dad’s room once more.

 

Dead creatures littered the bedroom the way it did the other public rooms in the manse. A tortoise skeleton was located on a drawer that rested at the end of his bed. Butterflies, pinned and framed to his walls in four different places. A stuffed bird of prey at the bedside table.

 

All these things Diego had forgotten almost immediately when he left this place.

 

 _He was obsessed with everything uncommon in the world. Including his kids,_ Vanya had written in her book.

 

Diego positioned himself into a leaning angle against the doorframe before calling out, “I could save you some time.”

 

To his amusement, Luther’s head snapped towards him.

 

“They’re all locked,” Diego informed him, taking in the sight of his brother. “No forced entry. No sign of a struggle. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

Besides, of course, all the unordinary things Dad always kept around his person.

 

Luther looked almost menacing with his back to the window, the shadow he cast almost impossibly large.

 

(And Diego would know about that best, wouldn’t he?)

 

Stepping closer to him, he couldn’t help but drawl out, “Oh, you got _big_ Luther.”

 

Luther stepped closer to him as well, and to Diego’s disappointment he realized the window wasn’t giving him a larger than life effect at all. Luther had actually somehow grown _larger_ since puberty, something he didn’t think was possible.

 

“What’s your secret?” He asked, only half joking. “Protein shakes? Low carbs?”

 

“What do you want?”

 

Diego reached into his back pocket and pulled out the autopsy report. Dangling it in front of Luther, who stared blankly at him, he clarified, “The autopsy report.” Diego playfully snatched it back when he reached for it. Grinning, he allowed Luther to take it.

 

“And you have his why?” Luther asked, unfolding it.

 

Diego spun on his heel. “That’s because _I,”_ falling back into Dad’s sitting chair near to the door, he leaned back as obnoxiously as he could, in a way that would have earned punishment last time Diego was in this house. “-went to the coroner’s office. Surprise, surprise, Dad’s death was...normal. Just boring old heart failure.”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“So...why are you in here?” He asked, splaying his hands. “Checking his windows, of all things.”

 

“Were you the first one on the scene?” Luther asked.

 

“Pogo found him.”

 

“Yeah, I talked to Pogo. He said he couldn’t find Dad’s monocle.”

 

“Your point being?” _Why would Pogo tell you that?_

 

“Can you think of a single time you saw Dad and he wasn’t wearing that monocle?”

 

Diego glanced away.

 

“No,” Luther said, almost agreeing. “Which means someone took it. Which means there’s a chance he wasn’t alone when he died.”

 

Diego rose to his feet, annoyed. “There is no mystery here. Nothing to avenge. Nothing to solve, nothing like that.” He turned to the bed and gestured slightly to the rumpled sheets where Dad died. “Just a sad, old man who kicked it all alone in a big empty house...just like he deserved.”

 

Luther stared down at him and for a long, long three seconds it was like they had never grown up. Like Dad was standing across from them, not intervening for the sake of seeing who’d come out on top.

 

It was always survival of the fittest in this house. Even after all these years.

 

“You should leave.”

 

“Whatever you say, _brother_.”

 

* * *

 

Leaving the room, Diego felt like neither of them had won a thing at all. Maybe that was what it meant to be an adult.

 

He didn’t know anything in this household.

 

He killed an hour in his old bedroom, trying to see it the way a stranger would. His closet and dresser only consisted of the Academy outfits, with the occasional splash of color from a T-shirt or jeans.

 

There was a dartboard on the wall, free of darts because he once improvised them as a weapon to get Klaus out of his room when they were twelve.

 

Luther, of all people, confiscated them, as if he had actually hurt Klaus with them.

 

Diego had retaliated by taking some of Luther’s books on aeronautics, which were still hidden, spines to the wall, on his bookcase to this day.

 

Five’s snappy lecture had been a thing to behold when he caught Luther in his room, snooping through Five’s bookcase for them.

 

Diego laid on his bed, almost too small for him now, and took a nap.

 

* * *

 

Wandering back downstairs and into the main room, he saw Allison and Luther were already seated on opposite couches. Allison sat in the loveseat closest to the fireplace, holding what looked like a glass of whiskey.

 

Klaus could be heard jangling about and talking to himself as he rifled through Dad’s bar at the other end of the room.

 

And Five watched over all of them from his mantle above the fireplace, indifferent to them now as he was in life for the most part.

 

Diego sat in the wooden armchair, uncomfortable already, wondering if they were waiting for him. He half hoped they were and half hoped they weren’t.

 

 _Just a few more hours_ , he reminded himself.

 

Luther glanced around the room, no doubt doing a headcount the way he always did growing up, at the end of missions and the start of every meal.

 

Six to five to four, he must have counted throughout the years. With Vanya included today, they’d have to start counting back up to five.

 

The irony of Five sitting above them all, uncounted, didn’t go unnoticed by Diego.

 

“So,” Luther said, standing up, though Diego didn’t think he had to stand to necessarily to get their attention. “I guess we should get this started,” he said as Klaus poured a drink loudly behind the bar. “So I figured we could do some kind of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown at his favorite spot. Say a few words.”

 

“Dad had a favorite spot?” Allison asked.

 

“You know, under the oak tree,” Luther clarified. Allison looked away awkwardly. “We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?”

 

Diego held in a bitter sigh, holding his tongue and turning to look out the window near the fireplace as Klaus rounded the bar and made his way towards the couches.

 

“Will there be refreshments?” Klaus asked, cigarette lit in one hand and a glass, more elaborate than the occasion called for, in the other, filled with something dark. “Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner,” he suggested.

 

Diego noted he lost his shirt at some point this afternoon and found an overcoat and skirt that clearly weren’t his.

 

“What? No,” Luther shook his head. “And put that out. You know Dad didn’t allow smoking in here-”

 

“Klaus, you better not have lost my damn shoes, man,” Diego warned at the same time Allison demanded, “Is that my skirt?”

 

Klaus, the only one in a skirt, put his glass on the side table and turned to her. “Oh, yeah, this. I found it in your room.” Proceeding to step back into the center of the rug, he spun a bit. “It’s a bit dated, I know, but it’s very breathy on the bits-”

 

“Listen up.” Luther said. “Still some important things we need to discuss, alright?”

 

Klaus sunk into the seat beside Vanya, uncaring about being cut off and completely avoided Diego’s eyes.

 

Diego contemplated going behind the bar and fixing his own drink like Klaus and Allison had been smart enough to do. Dad probably had good shit back there. “Like what?” He asked instead, deciding against the drink because he still wanted to work tonight.

 

“Like the way he died.”

 

“Here we go,” Diego muttered, standing up and going to the bar anyway. The Lieutenant wouldn’t be able to scold him about it, anyway, lest he become a hypocrite.

 

“I don’t understand,” Vanya said. “I thought they said he had a heart attack.”

 

“Yeah, according to the coroner.”

 

“Well, wouldn’t a coroner know best?” Vanya pressed, and Diego wished she had been more pushy growing up. It got tiring being the only one to question Luther as kids.

 

Eyeing the glasses are available, Diego realized Klaus picked a decorative glass for lack of option, rather than choice.

 

Grabbing it, he lightly blew it in to get rid of the dust, uncaring if there was a bit stuck in there still. It’d build up his immune system, he was sure.

 

He poured a few fingers of scotch, Dad’s favorite. If Luther got on his ass about it, he’d say it was in his memory or something.

 

He spared a glance at Dad’s urn on the bar, too fancy for a pile of ashes, in Diego’s opinion, but probably as expensive as the man himself was. It was probably real gold. There was a dead, decorative snake in the decorative glass just a few feet away from his picture frame, which was fitting.

 

Retaking his seat, he heard Luther defend himself with a, “Theoretically.”

 

“Theoretically?” Allison asked again, and Diego was a little impressed with all the questioning towards Luther. Diego himself had barely got a word in.

 

“Yeah,” Klaus suddenly agreed. “Like, what if the coroner lied?”

 

Oh, hell, Klaus thought he was helping Diego. It took all his restraint to not look at him.

 

“...Exactly,” Luther agreed, looking confused at this. “The last time I talked to Dad, he sounded strange-” he cut himself off, turning to look at Klaus fully. “What did you mean by the coroner lied?”

 

“Well, like,” Klaus fumbled for his drink, taking a long sip as everyone in the room turned to him, Diego, in particular glaring daggers. “Hush money?” He tried.

 

“Hush money?” Allison repeated. “By who? Pogo?” She let out a laugh.

 

“Well, now he has entire access to Dad’s money because Mom’s an android,” Klaus said, sinking further into the cushions instead of shutting his mouth.

 

Diego accidentally made eye contact with Luther. He didn’t know _what_ showed on his face but it made Luther take a step closer to him, immediately putting him on edge.

 

“You said you went to the coroner’s office this morning. Was there anything unusual?”

 

Diego was tempted to fall back further into his chair like Klaus by wouldn’t dare shrink back from Luther’s bulk. “The coroner spoke to me personally in his office. He explained Dad’s autopsy and cremation took priority because of his reputation, and yeah, a bit of money,” he admitted. “Rich people do that all the time. There’s nothing unusual about it.”

 

“What was the doctor's name?” Allison asked, leaning forward.

 

“Dwayne Kareem-”

 

“The chief medical examiner,” Luther muttered, pulling the autopsy report from his coat pocket.

 

Allison stood up. “What’s that?”

 

“The autopsy report,” Luther muttered.

 

Diego downed some of his drink, putting it on the floor for lack of a side table near him. “Luther,” he tried, standing up to move closer. “He was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what he had left of his marbles.”

 

Luther shook his head. “He must have known what was going to happen,” he said. Turning to Klaus he said, “Look, I know you don’t like doing it, but I need you to talk to Dad.”

 

Allison put her cup to her mouth to muffle a scoff as Klaus pointed an incredulous finger to himself. “I can’t just...call Dad in the afterlife and be like, ‘Dad, can you stop playing tennis with Hitler for a bit and take a brief call?’”

 

“Since _when_? That’s your thing,” Luther said and Diego looked away, bending down to pluck up his drink for another pull, aware of what comes next.

 

“I’m not in the right frame of _mind-_ ” Klaus protested.

 

“-You’re high?” Allison interjected.

 

Letting out a burst of breathless laughter, Klaus agreed, gesturing to the room as a whole. “I mean, how are you not, listening to this nonsense?!”

 

“Well, sober up. This is important,” Luther demanded, ignoring Klaus’s sigh. “Not to mention there’s an issue with the missing monocle.”

 

“Who gives a shit about a worthless monocle?” Diego snapped, feeling the weight of it in his back pocket, wondering if he should sit back down before someone saw its outline the way he caught it on Mom.

 

“Exactly. It’s _worthless_. So whoever took it, it must have been personal. Someone close to him-” Oh no. “Someone with a grudge.”

 

Diego remembered abruptly how one of the first things Luther asked him was if he was _the first one on the scene_. He’d assumed Luther meant with the DPD but-

 

“Where are you going with this?” Klaus squinted at him.

 

Diego and Klaus had alibis. Allison just flew in from LA. Luther just got back from the moon.

 

Diego prayed Vanya was with someone last night before Luther began digging into them all.

 

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, Klaus?” Diego scowled, turning to face Luther again. “He thinks one of _us_ murdered Dad.”

 

The room turned almost cold at his words, fireplace damned. Luther didn’t make any attempt to disagree with him.

 

“You do?” Klaus asked, finally looking interested.

 

“How could you think that?” Vanya asked, _almost_ snapping at him, but far too softly to qualify.

 

Diego stared at Luther, unable to summon any righteous anger, just relieved his eyes were towards his siblings and not their mother. Downing the rest of his drink he muttered, “Christ, Luther. Way to lead us.” And walked out the room.

 

The others weren’t far behind, hearing Klaus accuse Luther of being crazy, which would have been deliciously ironic on any other day.

 

* * *

 

Sitting back on his old bed, he picked up his phone where it’d been charging and saw a few texts waiting.

 

**Eudora**

_ >I’m sorry for your loss, even if you don’t feel it was. _

 

**Captain**

> _I’m sorry for your loss. You’re entitled to more than one day, Diego. Let me know you decide to take them._

 

**Hank Anderson**

> _sorry for your loss kid_

> _in case I forget to tell you, apparently deviants like keeping pets. Almost caught one today that kept like a hundred in its apartment. Nasty._

_ >they can also run very fast _

 

Idly, he responded,

 

**Me**

> _no great loss. Though I forgot how eccentric this place was_

 

**Me**

> _I wasn’t close to my father. I’ll save those days for when I’ll really need them, thank you._

 

**Me**

> _Pigeons? Is that symbolic for clipped wings or something? And I can run fast too, old man_

_ >I’m free after sundown, let me know if anything else comes up after that _

 

Diego plucked up four knives from his desk drawers and put them in their sheathes at his belt, usually empty these days, and shoved his phone in his back pocket and made his way back downstairs.

 

Vanya was sitting on the stairs alone, her head in her hands. Diego exercised restraint and didn’t make a comment.

 

The front room was blessedly abandoned.

 

He saw, however, that Dad’s urn was no longer where it was supposed to be.

 

Deciding it would only be an issue if it was still missing at sundown, he swung himself down on the couch to lay down, something else that would have warranted a scolding when he was younger.

 

His phone buzzed and he awkwardly shimmied to pull it out of his pants.

 

**Eudora**

> _How are your siblings taking it?_

 

**Me**

> _so so. p sure we all just wanna get out of here_

 

Distantly Diego could hear the bass of music above his head in the direction toward Luther and Allison’s rooms.

 

“ _And watch how you play,”_ the woman sung distantly. “ _They don’t understand._ ”

 

Staring down a taxidermied ox, or whatever it was, hanging on the wall, he listened intently, trying to figure out the song, something almost nostalgic about it.

 

He plucked up a knife and, without bothering to lift his head, he twisted of his wrist and watched it get embedded in the animal’s nose.

 

“ _I think we’re alone now,_ ” Tiffany sang and Diego glanced around to see how true it was, getting up from the couch to slide the side doors shut, knowing full well if he got caught he’d never live it down.

 

“ _Look at the way we gotta hide what we’re doing.”_

 

He danced along, not quite cheered by the beat, but his body thrummed with the beat of the oldies song in his chest.

 

_“The beating of our hearts is the only sound-”_

 

Abruptly the music stopped as the lights went out with a heavy thunder strike and Diego briefly saw the room lit by the color blue from outside.

 

_Was the house struck by lightning?_

 

There was the sound of glass breaking throughout the room and Diego watched as random objects flew into one wall, ones of his knives included. He could feel the other two vibrating at his hips as the air buzzed.

 

The door he had shut slid open and Luther and Allison stood there, Vanya running up from just behind.

 

“I don’t think that was regular thunder,” Allison said, sparing a glance to the wall full of Dad’s expensive shit in the room, some now broken from the impact.

 

“It came from the backyard!” Vanya spoke up.

 

They all shared a look before, as one, they made way to the backdoor.

 

Diego made it out the door first, Vanya at his heels.

 

“Holy shit,” he heard himself say.

 

The sky was black. The air near the gazebo was the only source of light there was. It was bright blue and _rippling_.

 

“What is it?!”

 

“Don’t get too close!” Allison said from somewhere behind him.

 

“No shit!” Diego said, blinking spots from his eyes.

 

“Looks like some sort of temporal anomaly,” Luther noted, shouting to be heard past the sounds of a storm. “Either that or a miniature black hole. One of the two.”

 

 _But it’s blue_! Diego didn’t say. Luther was the expert here on outer space, even if he didn’t sound certain. “That’s a pretty big difference,” he said instead.

 

“Out of the way!” He was elbowed aside by Klaus, of all people, as he lifted a fire extinguisher and aimed the foam upward at the light, throwing it when nothing happened.

 

It disappeared into the light.

 

_A wormhole?_

 

The thundering got more intense and Diego caught sight of a person faintly in the lights.

 

Klaus must have seen it too because he immediately began stepping backwards. Luther and Diego grabbed him, shoving him behind them.

 

“Get behind me!” Luther called.

 

“Behind us!” Diego corrected.

 

“I say we run!” Klaus called from the back where he was pushed.

 

The man in the portal seemed to waver, his hair getting darker and briefly shrinking.

 

Diego stared, arms lowering as the man fell _through_ the light and became a corporal object, hitting the ground roughly.

 

As soon as it started, it ended.

 

The blue light receded almost immediately and the sun came back out like it never left, though it was quickly overtaken by the heavy rain clouds that had lingered all day.

 

The boy, and it wasn’t an object, rose to his feet, suit too big for his body.

 

Together, they all stepped forward.

 

“Does anyone else see little Number Five or is that just me?” Klaus asked and Diego swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

The boy looked down at his own clothes and back up to them, looking disgruntled. “Shit,” he said.

 

Diego, absurdly, realized this is the first time all seven of them have been together since Five went missing, if one counted Ben’s statue gazing at them all from behind Five.

 

Without a word to them, Five strode past them and into the house.

 

One by one, the rest of them followed him as he made his way to the kitchen, equally uncertain.

 

Luther and Vanya made their way to sit at the table and Allison and Diego hovered behind them, too jittery to sit.

 

Klaus sat barefoot on the table.

 

“So,” Luther drew out. “Are we gonna talk about what just happened.”

 

Five didn’t seem to hear him, pulling out a butter knife and pulling out slices of bread from the loaf.

 

“It’s been _seventeen years_ ,” Luther said when he didn’t respond, rising to his feet. “Where have you been?”

 

Finally Five turned to look at him, going to far as to step closer and turn up his face to better look at Luther to snap, “Oh, it’s been a lot longer than _that_.”

 

A slight movement forward and a warp of blue light had Five several feet away in a second where he reached for the marshmallows on the top shelf.

 

“I haven’t missed that,” Luther muttered.

 

Diego didn’t have the heart to call him out on the lie.

 

“The future,” Five answered belatedly, turning and reappearing back in front of Luther, bag in hand. “It’s shit, by the way.”

 

“Called it,” Klaus chimes in, raising a hand.

 

“I should’ve listened to the old man,” Five continued, walking to the fridge and pulling out the jar of peanut butter. “He knew. Jumping through space is one thing. Jumping through time is a toss of the dice.”

 

At that, Diego had to sit on the table as well, feet resting in the chair. Allison had moved to sitting on top of the chair back.

 

Five finally paused to look at the rest of them, or, Klaus, who sat directly in front of him.

 

“Nice dress,” he commented.

 

“Oh, well, _danke_!” Klaus thanked, fidgeting with his skirt, rather than correct him.

 

“Wait, wait. How did you get back?” Vanya asked.

 

Five continued making his sandwich. “I’m the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state of myself that exists across every possible instance of time.”

 

 _This_ was something Diego hadn’t missed. “That makes no sense,” he said.

 

“Well, it would if you were smarter,” Five responded, not bothering to look at him.

 

Diego barely made it out of his chair before Luther’s arm met his chest, which was for the best. Diego hadn’t fought any of his family today which was well past his expectations when he woke up this morning.

 

It would do to pick a fight with his thirteen year old brother who’d been missing for seventeen years.

 

“How long were you there?” Luther was asking.

 

“Forty-five years, give or take.”

 

Together, Diego and Luther sank back down as the Hargreeves family shared a moment of solidarity to gape at Five.

 

“What are you saying? That your fifty-eight?”

 

Five looked up. “No,” he said like they were idiots. “My _consciousness_ is fifty-eight. My body is now fifteen again.”

 

Diego didn’t have it in him to tell him he didn’t _look_ fifteen.

 

“How is that _possible_?” Allison demanded.

 

“Well, Dolores kept saying the equations were off. Bet she’s laughing now.”

 

“Delores?”

 

Five ignored Allison, taking a bite of his sandwich and walking away to pick up a news tablet, where Dad’s picture was depicted.

 

“Guess I missed the funeral,” he said, not bothering to scroll through it.

 

“How do you know about that?” Luther demanded.

 

“What part of the _future_ do you not understand?” Finally scrolling through the tablet, he commented, “Heart failure, huh?”

 

“No-”

 

“Yes,” Diego cut off. “You’re seriously about to blame Five for Dad dying, Luther?”

 

“I wasn’t!”

 

“Nice to see nothing’s changed,” Five cut them off with a surly expression, dropping his sandwich and walking away.

 

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Allison asked his back.

 

“What else is there to say? Circle of life,” he called back.

 

“Well that was interesting,” Luther sighed.

 

* * *

 

“ _Chop chop_ , bro! Let’s get this shindig over with,” Klaus clapped twice for emphasis. “Luther said it’s sundown.”

 

Diego looked up from his phone where Eudora was giving a rundown on her family to distract him, like he’d asked her to.

 

**Me**

_ >Funeral time. Wish me luck. _

 

Dripping his phone on his bed, he followed Klaus downstairs, seeing his brother had put his boots back out and paired them with sheer shin-length socks.

 

_Christ._

 

Downstairs, everyone was gathering. Allison or Pogo must have gotten Mom dressed into funeral attire, put her in all black to match the rest of them. Even Allison had pulled a black overcoat and scarf over her bright blue blouse.

 

As they walked in a line to the courtyard towards _Dad’s favorite tree_ , they all plucked up a black umbrella. There was no shortage of them.

 

Dad had started his fortune selling umbrellas, once upon a time.

 

Diego declined to grab one, even when he saw how heavy the rain was.

 

The old man had already given him an umbrella, thanks.

 

They stood in a semicircle, waiting for Luther, who held Dad’s urn, to speak.

 

“Did something happen?” Mom asked, turning to Diego at his left.

 

He looked at her, frowning, Dad’s monocle practicality burning a hole in his pocket at the question.

 

“Dad died,” Allison told her from Diego’s right. “Remember?”

 

“Oh. Yes, of course,” Mom agreed, still looking lost.

 

“Is Mom okay?” Allison asked Diego, and he felt everybody’s eyes on him.

 

“Yeah,” he said, feeling a pit in his stomach. “She was up early is all, preparing for everybody. She just needs a recharge,” he excused.

 

They seemed to accept this and turned to Luther once more, who looked at Pogo. “Whenever you’re ready, dear boy,” Pogo said.

 

Luther seemed to swallow before pulling off the lid to the urn.

 

He turned it over and dumped out the ashes. Without any winds to carry it anywhere it just...fell in a depressing pile on the floor.

 

Klaus choked a bit on his cigarette in a clear attempt to smother another sound.

 

Diego tried not to feel _too_ vindicated by the pile of ashes when he and Luther made eye contact.

 

“Probably would have been better with some wind,” Luther admitted.

 

“Does anyone wish to speak?” Pogo asked.

 

They all shifted awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with Pogo the way they used to to avoid being called on during lessons.

 

“Very well then,” he said. “In all regards, Sir Reginald made me who I am today,” This was true, Diego could admit. “For that alone, I shall forever be in his debt. He was my master, and my friend. And I shall miss him very much.”

 

 _He can’t be called a friend if he was your master_ , Diego wanted to snap. _He was a monster._

 

“He leaves behind a complicated legacy-”

 

“It’s complicated because of us, Pogo, you can say it,” he said before he could stop himself. “He was brilliant enough to get awards but that didn’t mean he was a good person. He was bad father and we’re better off without him.”

 

Klaus let out a surprised laugh and Allison immediately berated him. “ _Diego_ ,” she hissed.

 

“My _name_ is Number Two,” he berated right back. “It’s on my birth certificate and I have to explain that every time I deal with official shit and it gets humiliating pretty fast having to admit my father didn’t love his kids enough-”

 

“Stop talking,” Luther warned.

 

Diego was surprised to see he had stepped closer to Luther at some point, almost toeing the pile of ashes, to his disgust.

 

“I’ll stop talking alright,” he heard himself agree, blood roaring in his ears, tempted, so, so _tempted_ to kick the ashes around like an ant hill.

 

He took a step back, turning to grab Mom by the elbow.

 

“Let’s go inside, Mom. You knew him better than us, anyway, didn’t you,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

 

She immediately began walking without him, just slowly enough for him to catch up, to his surprise. “Your father is quite the man,” she agreed. “He is so...so…” her voice warbled, and she froze in place, midstep.

 

Diego could hear something in her head clicking, wondering anxiously if something inside her got wet.

 

“Mom?” Vanya and Allison asked in unison, stepping closer.

 

Warily, Diego glanced up to see the whole family all watching her.

 

Mom turned around and stared at the pile of ashes and he felt a sense of disquiet.

 

Nobody spoke as she took off her hat, passing it and the umbrella over to Diego. He held it over her, uncertain, as she unclasped her pearl necklace she always wore.

 

She walked to the ashes, Diego hovering over her, and gently draped the necklace around the pile, smile gone.

 

“Your father was quite the man,” she corrected, lifting a hand to touch his shoulder and squeeze it, before standing and making her way back inside the house, Diego trailing behind to keep her dry.

 

* * *

 

He led Mom up to the laundry room and waited for her to change into her standard blouse and flared skirt before guiding her to her charging seat in the hallway above the main room.

 

“How do you feel, Mom?” He asked before the plugs could prick her.

 

She looked at him, smile present once more. “Diego, I feel just wonderful now that you’re home again.”

 

“Mom,” Diego tried. “I have to leave now. It’s getting late. I’ll come by tomorrow to see you though, alright.” He squeezed her hand.

 

“Of course you will, darling. And I’ll be here,” she said, turning her head to look at the wall of countless paintings.

 

Her chargers creeped up and he watched her eyes blink like an LED before it settled back into her dark blue. She blinked at slowly lost her smile, eyes gazing at the landscapes.

 

Diego swallowed before standing, feet leading him back to his bedroom before he knew it.

 

He picked up his charger and curled it around his hands before shoving it in his jacket pocket, making his way downstairs to the foyer to get his keys.

 

He debated leaving Klaus or taking him for a long moment.

 

Sighing, he trudged downstairs to the kitchen where Allison, Klaus, and Five had somehow gathered.

 

“I’m leaving,” he told Klaus, who jerked to his feet.

 

“Oh, let me get my things!” He told Diego, dragging his hands across his shoulders as he passed.

 

So much for offering.

 

“Did you two come together?” Allison asked as Five rummaged through the cabinets.

 

“Yeah,” he told her, moving to sit while he waited for his brother. “He got arrested last night and they held him in a cell for me to see if we were related.”

 

“Is that legal?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

 

“Is what legal?” He asked, looking up from his inspection of Five.

 

“Cops...not detaining someone if they’re related to another cop?” She asked.

 

“Depends who you ask,” he dismissed. “Klaus definitely would have been charged for public indecency if we weren’t related. He didn’t _hurt_ anybody is why they let him go with me.”

 

Five was mouthing _public indecency_ to himself, scowling when he caught Diego grinning at him.

 

“Ready, _mon frere_!” Klaus sang as he edged back into the room, a backpack strewn over his shoulder.

 

“You have a car?” Five asked him as he rose to his feet.

 

“Yeah-”

 

“Give me a ride,” he demanded, already striding out the room.

 

Allison smiled at him. “Haven’t you missed his holier-than-thou personality?”

 

“Like a missing limb,” he told her, unable to help smiling back.

 

“Or a missing brother?” Klaus suggested, leaning on Diego’s shoulder.

 

Elbowing him off, he told Allison, “See you at the next funeral.”

 

* * *

 

Five was nowhere to be seen by the time Klaus and Diego made their way to the car.

 

Rolling his eyes as he turned on the vehicle, he hoped Five didn’t pull any more time jumping bullshit for another seventeen years.

 

Klaus let out a shriek from the backseat and Diego flinched, slammed the break, and turned around to see Five, elbowing Klaus out of the way as he crawled over the front seat.

 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he scolded Klaus, who dramatically clutched his chest. “I said I was coming along.”

 

Diego stared at him, bewildered, as Five began adjusting the passenger seat, pocketing the knife he had on the floorboard.

 

“What?” Five snapped, acting like he wasn’t blatantly stealing Diego’s shit.

 

“Seatbelt, little man,” he said instead, raising his eyebrows when Five looked about ready to spit. “I’m a cop and shit. I follow the law these days.”

 

“You have a drug addict in your backseat,” Five deadpanned.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted as Klaus began to cackle.

 

Diego began driving off, uncertain where to drop them off.

 

“Take me to the best coffee shop you know,” Five demanded.

 

“Starbucks is closed today,” Klaus informed them. “National training for the workers.”

 

_What?_

 

“I’ll take you to Griddy’s,” Diego said, ignoring Klaus.

 

“That place is still open?” Five asked.

 

“Yeah. Still the best donuts in Detroit,” Diego confirmed.

 

Klaus kept his chatter up in the backseat and Diego ignored him for the most part.

 

“Hello?” He was saying. “Yeah, after sunset. I’m free.”

 

Diego could feel eyes boring into him.

 

He turned to see Five frowning disapprovingly at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Should Klaus be answering that?”

 

Diego turned quickly in his seat and saw Klaus on his phone.

 

“A strip club, huh? Sounds wild.”

 

“Give it here, Klaus,” he ordered as he pulled into Griddy’s.

 

“Of course this is Diego,” Klaus insisted.

 

Diego unbuckled his seatbelt, turning in his seat.

 

“Here, here!” Klaus cried, shoving his phone in his face. “No need to threaten with your body, geez.”

 

“Lieutenant?” Diego asked, flipping a finger at his brother in the backseat.

 

“Hargreeves? Was that your brother?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Diego could _feel_ Klaus mocking him at that, ripping his charger from his pocket and tossing it hard at him.

 

“We’ve got a dead guy in an Eden Club downtown. Connor texted you the address. Are you ready for this stuff, kid?” The Lieutenant asked.

 

“I’m down. I’ll be there in a bit,” he confirmed.

 

The Lieutenant hung up first, as expected.

 

“A dead guy found in a sex joint? Your job sounds fun!” Klaus told him, leaning into his space.

 

Five looked interested as well before he turned away. “Thanks for the ride,” he said and slammed the door.  

 

“What an angel,” Klaus noted.

 

“Go with him, I have work,” Diego demanded, gesturing to the diner.

 

Klaus looked offended for a beat before relenting, opening the backdoor.

 

“Tell Agnes to put your bill on my tab,” Diego said, feeling guilty.

 

“You’ll regret that,” Klaus promised, blowing a kiss and shutting the door. “We’re feeling waffles,” he heard faintly as he walked around the car.

 

Diego sighed to himself. _A murder in an android sex club, huh?_ _Sounds like a good way to end the day of Dad’s funeral_.

 

He hoped Dad was watching this, wherever he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Diego doesn’t have to steal the coroner report here and gets to see a paid man squirm, and makes connections between last night's android and today's. 
> 
> Loved everyone’s feedback in the last chapter. Y’all are wild though. 
> 
> Me: what do y’all think of a D:BH and UA crossover-  
> Y’all: do androids have souls?
> 
> I loved it, please keep these weird comments up.


	3. i slithered here from eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("Imagine a story where everything goes wrong, where everyone has their back against the wall, where everyone is in pain and acting selfishly because if they don’t, they’ll die. Imagine a story, not of good against evil, but of need against need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone is to blame.”)
> 
> -Richard Siken

**November 6**

 

Diego was aware sex clubs existed the way he was aware churches existed.

 

And maybe the comparison was blasphemous, but he wasn’t entirely sure when the word applied as he’s never read a bible. He’s only seen churches from his car window or in Christmas movies during the holidays.

 

And as far as he was aware, Eden was a holy garden in the Bible where mankind was created, not a place mankind went to get their dicks wet.

 

But Dad raised his kids agnostic, so what did Diego know?

 

People went to these places to find comfort and had opposite standards, generally speaking. Church? He knew like, ten people on the top of his head that went there on occasion, Eudora included. If anybody Diego knew went to an Eden Club, they kept a tight lid on the information.

 

So he was deeply interested to pull to the back of the Eden Club and see Officer Steve Paulson from his old precinct dart into his car and peel out of the street with a screech of tires.

 

“Yikes,” Diego muttered.

 

The back of the club, frankly, looked like a warehouse from what angle he could see it at. Though if the club really did rely solely on androids for entertainment he supposed they’d have to have a few dozen of them ready and waiting to be used.

 

He imagined it was hard to stuff that many androids in a broom closet during standby mode.

 

Diego dropped his keys into his jacket pocket and debated for a long moment if he should holster his gun in the trunk. He still had two knives hooked to the back of his belt, however, and decided against it.

 

He strolled around the building to the front entrance where several police cars were parked, lights blaring obnoxiously. He received a few nods of acknowledgement from a few officers as well as the EMT crew as he made his way through the police crossing tape, noting the ambulance was void of any civilian inside, corpse or otherwise.

 

Diego tried to ignore the adverts on the walls boasting the _Sexiest Androids in Town_ as he entered the building, only to be immediately greeted by several androids on either side of the entry room inside separate glass...containers.

 

 _Christ,_ he thought, disgusted. They were dressed in black underwear or bikinis, depending on their gender, and their skin must have been programmed to shimmer under the light, far too synthetic to be just glitter.

 

One pressed his hands against the glass towards him, eyes half lidded as he smiled down at him, dark eyes catching the blue and pink lights overhead.

 

Diego averted his eyes, feeling his skin crawl as he made his way deeper into the Eden Club.

 

The main room itself gave him no comfort. There were several poles throughout the room where androids spun around on them. Alongside all the walls, glass tube after glass tube lined the room, separated only by doors that led to private rooms.

 

Diego tried not to scowl at the empty containers, fully aware of the rooms marked _Occupied,_ the occupants uncaring of a murder or of the police loitering in the building.

 

Ben Collins was hovering at one of the doorways and Diego called out a greeting to him, almost relieved at the sight of a human not there for recreational purposes.

 

“Hank told me to expect you,” Ben told him. “I almost can’t believe the Captain reassigned you. You and Patch are peas in a pod.”

 

“It’s temporary,” Diego said, watching Reed and Wilson leave the investigation room behind Ben. “She’s out of state for a funeral. I’ll solve this case with the Lieutenant and things will settle back down.”

 

“Speaking of funerals,” Ben said, shifting awkwardly. “I caught the news this morning. Sorry for your loss. Your dad accomplished a lot of things in his lifetime.”

 

Diego was saved from responding by Chris Miller, who fell a step behind Ben and began putting away his work tablet in a poor form of respect for the topic. “Your dad died? Sorry to hear that Diego.”

 

“Should you even be here?” Reed asked, his face was snide as always towards Diego but his voice could be called sincere. Probably. “Patch is outta town and you deal in homicides-”

 

“Is this _not_ a homicide?” Diego asked. “And you work Red Ice. Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that?”

 

“Just a guy who bit off more than he can chew,” Reed dismissed, scoffing. “Heart failure midact. And there was Red Ice on the table and narcotics already nabbed a sample. With you paired with Anderson, the Captain is having me pull your and Patch’s weight in homicides.”

 

 _Heart failure,_  Diego thought. _If I hear about heart failure one more time today I’m gonna a lose it._

 

“I’ve been assigned to this case,” Diego said instead. “Ben, can you give me a rundown.”

 

“Uh,” Ben mumbled, looking awkwardly at Chris and Reed.

 

Reed rolled his eyes and stalked off towards the exit, hand reaching for his radio at his hip when it began to crackle. Chris gave Diego an apologetic look before following.

 

“Right, didn’t mean to overstep,” Ben excused. “We’ve got, well. See for yourself. Pretty cut and dry, like Reed said.”

 

Stepping towards a room marked _Occupied_ , Ben pressed his hand on the scanner and the door slid open, revealing a private Eden Club room.

 

Stepping inside, Diego observed the naked dead man in the bed, with a purpling throat and red silk sheets tastefully covering his junk. An android was across the other side of the room on the floor, clothed in a bikini with blue blood leaking from her face.

 

She’d clearly been forcefully deactivated.

 

Connor, the android from last night’s case, was leaning over the android body in a way that was decidedly _not_ tasteful, dipping a finger in the blue blood on her face and tasting it.  

 

Diego recalled Connor had forensic equipment in his mouth before he could recoil in disgust like Hank proceeded to.

 

“I think I’m gonna puke again,” The Lieutenant mumbled.

 

Diego took a moment to look at the man and felt a sort of secondhand embarrassment for him. The Lieutenant was obviously drunk, eyes bloodshot and the air around him stunk like alcohol. Under his jacket, he wore a truly eye watering hippy shirt.

 

 _Eudora wouldn’t show up to a case like this,_ he thought wistfully, already composing a text to her in his head to complain about the Lieutenant’s poor work ethic.

 

“Again?” Diego repeated, carefully.

 

Hank startled, turning around. “Hargreeves? You got here quick.”

 

“Call me Diego,” he reminded, watching Connor give him a quick up-down before dismissing him, stepping closer to the body on the bed, the LED on his temple spinning yellow as he processed information. “And I was already driving when you called. What’ve you got?”

 

“The victim, Michael Graham, didn’t die of a heart attack. He was strangled,” Connor informed them before Hank could respond.

 

“Doesn’t mean anything,” Hank said, shaking his head, “Could’ve been rough play.”

 

Diego eyed the room again. There was no way the victim was strangled to death and somehow backhanded the android across the room beforehand.

 

“Can you read the android’s memory?” Hank asked Connor from where he was digging through the vic’s clothes, which were laid across the room’s bar. Several alcohol bottles were opened and Diego watched the Lieutenant eye them.

 

How had this man not been fired already, Diego wondered.

 

“I can try.”

 

Connor made his way back to the fallen android and bent low, taking her hand in his.

 

The skin on their hands slid away like water, retreating into their bodies, leaving two white plastic hands entwined.

 

“The only way to access its memory is to reactivate it,” Connor informed them after a second of this. “It’s badly damaged so it will only work for a minute or two.”

 

As he spoke, Connor released the limp hand, his pale skin falling back into place, and reached for the android’s bare stomach.

 

With a single brush of his fingers, the android’s skin began to recede back into her body, leaving a white chassis in place that Connor easily removed like a panel.

 

Diego felt almost disconnected from the moment as he watched Connor fiddle with the wires inside her belly. A glance at Hank showed he felt the same way, a grimace in place.

 

After a minute of digging around her wiring, Connor moved back a bit, waiting expectantly. His fingers were stained blue from the thirum that lubricated her biocomponents.

 

As if cued, the Eden android surged to her feet, eyes wide and panicked as they darted around the room, pausing at the dead body on the bed.

 

She stood and tried to take a step away from them only to fall back down, quickly skittering back into a wall when Connor took a step towards her.

 

She was gasping quickly for breath, LED blinking red, leaning as far back from them as she could manage. Her nose began leaking blue blood rapidly and Diego suddenly understood what Connor meant by _a minute or two._

 

“You were damaged,” Connor informed her calmly. “Everything is alright.”

 

“Is he…” She whispered, looking at Graham’s naked body on the bed. “Is he dead?”

 

“Tell me what happened,” Connor pressed.

 

She looked at Hank and Diego. Diego carefully raised his hands and took a careful step away from the androids on the floor. Hank, however, didn’t move an inch, eyes boring into her, allowing Connor to question her.

 

“He started hitting me,” she told Connor, turning to him again. “Again...and again.” Her eyes were bright. “I _begged_ him to stop and he wouldn’t-”

 

“Did you kill him?” Connor interrupted.

 

“ _No_ , _no_ , it wasn’t _me_ -”

 

“Were you alone in the room?” He asked urgently, leaning in. “Was there anyone else with you?”

 

“He-He wanted to play with two girls. That’s-that’s what he said, there were two of us.”

 

“What model was the other android? Did it look like you-”

 

“I-I-I-” She stuttered, before freezing in place, dead once more, back to the wall and eyes wide and glassy, no longer bleeding.

 

Diego felt _gutted,_ even as his mind reeled at the implications.

 

 _She was afraid_. _There’s supposed to be two androids. Where is the other?_

 

“Can we check his expense account? Confirm he paid for two androids?” Diego asked.

 

“Even if there were two, this was over an hour ago,” Hank said. “It’s probably long gone.”

 

“No,” Connor said. “It wouldn’t be able to go outside dressed like that unnoticed.”

 

Diego and Hank looked at the dead android, clad in a black bikini and and three inch heels.

 

“Think you can find a deviant among all the other androids in this place?” Hank asked him.

 

“Deviants aren’t easily detected,” Connor said, lips tilting awkwardly in a way Diego had never seen on an android. He seemed almost human to Diego with that single gesture.

 

“I’ll talk to the manager,” Diego said as Hank muttered a curse under his breath. “See if I can get the serial number from the rented androids.”

 

“I’ll look for a witness,” Hank said agreeably. “I’ll start with the manager before you lay into him,” he said, giving Diego a pointed look.

 

Diego shrugged and followed him out of the room, Connor at their heels before breaking away.

 

Watching Connor make his way to an Eden android in a glass case, Diego dismissed him, remembering Connor tended to do his own thing from the Ortiz case.

 

Hank led him to a man who _looked_ like he owned the sex club. Scrawny and balding, a fake gold chain around his neck.

 

“Did Michael come here a lot?” Hank asked the manager, looking as impressed with the man as Diego felt.

 

“No, I mean. He came in two or three times. Like, these guys don’t really talk much, you know. They come in, do their business and go on their way,” The manager stammered out, forehead shiny under the club’s pink lighting.

 

“You ever have trouble with an android before?” Hank asked.

 

“No! Well, I mean,” he mumbled. “We had an incident with an android two or three months back. Um, it was the same model. It just...vanished. We never found out what happened.”

 

 _Model WR400_ , Diego mentally noted, and hoped he would remember to check for it in the deviancy case files at work in the morning.

 

“You don’t keep records here, do you?” Diego asked before Hank could continue. “Like _who’s_ with _what_ android for such and such hour.”

 

“No,” the manager admitted. “I mean, that’s what people appreciate about Eden Club, the discretion. They come and go without a trace.”

 

“That policy is why another android is gonna vanish without a trace,” Diego scowled. “It’d be a shame if your club got a rep where androids kill the Johns who bought them for the hour and walk off scotch free.”

 

The manager licked his lips nervously. “Actually, the androids are paid for by every half hour-”

 

“Detective Hargreeves,” Connor interrupted before Diego could take a threatening step towards the man. “Can you come here for a second.”

 

Diego glanced at the android, wondering how long he’d been standing behind him. “Sure. You find anything?”

 

“Maybe,” he said, turning away.

 

Diego glanced at Hank who nodded an assent before following. Behind, he could hear the Lieutenant asking about CCTV devices.

 

Connor led Diego to one of the glass containers holding an Eden android.

 

“Can you rent this Traci?” Connor asked Diego, dark eyes somehow earnest. It was severely out of place in an android sex club.

 

Diego frowned in trepidation, eyeing the android in the glass who watched him with half lidded eyes. “Traci?”

 

“Traci is the standard name for female androids made for sex work,” Connor informed. “Can you rent this Traci,” he repeated.

 

“The fuck,” Diego snapped as the words clicked in his head, stepping away from the glass. “No. Why would I?”

 

“Just trust me, Detective. It’s for the case,” he insisted.

 

Diego looked at android in the glass, Traci, feeling his skin crawl as she smiled down at him.

 

“I’m not having sex with her,” he warned Connor, pointing a warning finger at him as the android nodded agreeably.

 

Stepping to the side of the glass, he sighed as he input his banking information on the screen presented, feeling the eyes of both Connor and Traci on him as they both waited for him.

 

“Hello,” a female voice greeted from the side speakers. “A 30 minute session costs $29.99. Please confirm your purchase.”

 

Diego grit his teeth in irritation as he confirmed, anticipating a call from his bank soon for _suspicious activity_ and the shame that would come from having to confirm it was him.

 

“Purchase confirmed,” the voice chimed. “Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience.”

 

The glass chamber slid open and Traci stepped down easily. “Delighted to meet you,” she told him, voice lower than he expected. “Follow me, I’ll take you to your room.”

 

Diego looked expectantly at Connor, ignoring the open hand Traci held towards him.

 

Connor stepped forward and her smile dropped some, turning to him when it was clear Diego wouldn’t move closer. He wondered if she was programmed to only smile that way at humans, watching the way she stared almost blankly at Connor, indifferent to him.

 

Connor didn’t seem to care for her either, reaching out and taking her arm in his without warning, their skin peeling back as data was exchanged, LEDs both blinking yellow.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Hank asked, coming up from behind.

 

Diego shrugged, feeling almost embarrassed as Connor held Traci’s hand, blinking rapidly as he processed whatever information he was taking from her.

 

Traci watched Connor evenly, and Diego wondered what information she was getting from the exchange, if she was receiving anything at all.

 

“It saw something,” Connor released her hand and their skin fell into place once more.

 

Diego turned and observed the distance from their current spot to the room where Graham’s body lied in.

 

“The murderous android?” He guessed.

 

“Yes,” Connor confirmed. “The deviant left the room. A blue-haired Traci. Club policy is to wipe the androids’ memory every two hours. So we only have a few minutes if we’re going to find another witness.” His eyes were already darting around, likely calculating angles and figuring out which other androids could qualify as witnesses.

 

“Why every two hours? Why not every twelve or twenty-four?” Diego asked Hank as Connor wandered off again.

 

“Does it matter?” Hank frowned.

 

“Yeah, that’s like, four people max and one minimum. Isn’t that privacy policy going bit too far?” Diego felt eyes on him again and saw Traci had begun smiling at him again, her hand extended to him once more. “Shit.”

 

Hank gave him an unimpressed look. “Did you rent it?”

 

“Connor told me to,” he defended, jabbing a finger in the direction Connor fucked off to. “And listen, I’m not interested,” he told Traci. She lowered her hand, but her smile didn’t waver. “Take the next thirty minutes off or something. Sorry,” he said, turning away as Hank followed.

 

Connor was waiting near another android, one almost completely identical to the one before, the only difference was this one had red hair. “Detective,” he said once they were close enough. “Let’s try this one.”

 

“Why don’t you ask the Lieutenant?” Diego asked, moving closer to type his information once more, aware they were pressed for time now by the way Connor kept shifting impatiently.

 

He’d never seen a Cyberlife android fidget before. Not even Mom really _fidgeted_. There was always something in the house that could hold anyone’s attention, her included.

 

“You’re younger,” Connor said, eyes on the Traci as he spoke. Diego could feel the Traci watching him through the glass. “I assumed your bank would find it less suspicious for a younger man to make purchases at an Eden Club than a middle aged one.”

 

Diego bristled as he slammed his finger on the confirm button. “Michael Graham is closer to the Lieutenant’s age than mine,” he protested as Hank snorted.

 

The glass slid open and the Traci android stepped down towards Diego.

 

“Hello,” she said, before Connor grabbed her arm and their skin retracted.

 

After a few seconds, Connor released her and said, “It went this way,” as he strode away like a hound with a scent.

 

Diego mumbled out an apology to the android, turning away to follow Connor into another open room off to the corner.

 

The new room was smaller and more closed in, lights more blue, rather than pink. There was only enough room for one stripper pole in here, though the walls were still lined with glass containers holding the androids. The only thing keeping this room from being more eerie than it was was the bass of the music thumping from the speakers overhead.

 

Diego went through the motions of renting another android for Connor to take information from, grumbling with Hank all the while.

 

“I thought you said we only had a few more minutes a few minutes ago,” he complained as Connor made him rent a male android.

 

The time limit was the only thing from keeping Diego from asking if the male androids also had the name Traci.

 

“I made a mistake somewhere,” Connor replied, releasing the other male android and stepping away eyes searching the room.

 

“Sorry,” Diego told the android, the first one actually his height. “Take the next thirty minutes off. Nothing, uh, nothing personal.” Unbidden, Diego glanced at his abs.

 

“It went in here!” Connor called.

 

Turning away, Diego saw Connor releasing a janitorial android who continued mopping once his arm was released.

 

Connor darted into a side room marked _Private: Authorized Personnel Only._ The door slid open to reveal a white, bricked hall with white fluorescent lighting, a welcome relief from the pink and blue lights Diego’s seen since he arrived.

 

“This is fucking crazy,” Hank complained as they followed. “How much money did you spend, anyway?”

 

“I guess I’ll know when my bank calls in the morning,” Diego said as Connor made his way to the door at the end of the hall. “Younger man, my ass. I’ve never been to one of these places and I’m not impressed.”

 

Hank let out a chuckle that trailed off as they reached the doorway. “I’ll go first,” he chided the android who retreated a few steps as the Lieutenant shoved himself in front of him, drawing a hand to the gun on his waist.

 

Diego’s gun was in his trunk, unfortunately, so he reached for the one of the double bladed knives at his waistband towards his back, hidden beneath his jacket.

 

He didn’t _often_ carry knives on him anymore. It was pure fancy that he took two knives from his childhood bedroom that afternoon. Knives weren’t exactly _standard_ for an officer of the law but tended to be his first line of defense, and undoubtedly less likely to cause a casualty without Diego’s say so.

 

Captain Fowler was no doubt aware of this last fact, of course. He wasn’t a strong advocate for gun use as a first response anyway, despite the stigma of _cops and guns_. Patch once told Diego that before Fowler, the previous Captain was a lot less strict about his officers firing as a first response, rather than de-escalation.

 

Diego was certain that if the Captain was unaware of his past and power, he would have put his foot down a long time ago about unauthorized weapons.

 

Connor darted a glance at the knife and Diego’s waist band, no doubt as curious as his programming allowed him to be. And he had no idea what kind of android Connor was, frankly. He’d never seen any other android officers take such a heavy role in investigations.

 

Diego had somehow ended up behind said android as they made their way down a short staircase leading into the warehouse Diego saw upon arrival.

 

The Lieutenant lowered his gun after a few seconds of assessing the area and holstered it, and Diego took the cue to lower his own weapon, though didn’t let it leave his hand.

 

“Shit,” The Lieutenant’s voice echoed above the rain that picked up just outside the warehouse doors. “We’re too late.”

 

The warehouse was dimly lit, the majority of the light coming from the center of the room, where a bulb shined on a deactivated android laying on a table in a poor imitation of an operation, complete with clear plastic curtains to save on the blue blood splatter.

 

Carts were spotted randomly throughout the place, no doubt loaded with blue blood and spare parts.

 

It made Diego wonder if the Traci upstairs killed by Graham would be pieced back together and just to have a her memory wiped to be shoved back to work.

 

The walls were lined up neatly with Eden androids, all in standby mode. The blue haired Traci was likely hiding among them, and Diego slowly made his way through the room towards the open garage door, opposite to Connor who already bent low and stuck something in his mouth.

 

He passed a washing machine and a clothes rack full of skimpy clothes and shuddered, knowing full well androids shouldn’t have to change outfits with no bodily functions to sully them.

 

“Christ,” Hank muttered. “Look at them.” Diego turned to see him gesture to the android laying on the table. “They get used till they break and get thrown out.”

 

 _Is that sympathy in your voice, Lieutenant?_ Diego wanted to ask.  _The Ortiz android was in worse physical condition than that one and you just wanted to go home_.

 

He kept his mouth shut instead, turning when he saw a splash of red in the corner of his eye.

 

 **rA9** was nearly graffitied on the wall, almost completely hidden by two boxes. Diego pulled out his phone and took a picture for the case. Two times is coincidence but three would be a pattern. Tomorrow he’d have to ask Hank about what cases he covered today. He had texted something about pigeons earlier, hadn’t he?

 

He joined Connor in glancing out the garage doors. “I can see my car from here,” he joked.

 

The android’s eyes slid over to the chain link fence in the distance. “So you can,” he agreed. “Did you see anything when you arrived, Detective?”

 

“No, just another officer from my last precinct. Always thought he was a damn pervert. Probably left when he realized he might run into someone he knew when all the other cops showed up. Took the only back entrance there was,” Diego shook his head in disgust.

 

Connor tilted his head, clearly fumbling for a response.

 

“People are fucking insane,” The Lieutenant was complaining. “They don't want relationships anymore, everybody just gets an android.”

 

Diego rolled his eyes, turning his back to Connor as he examined another row of androids. They stared forward blankly, their skin almost plain looking compared to the active androids in the other side of the building with their glittering skin.

 

He wondered if this was preferable to them compared to what happened when they were active. Did they care at all, like the poor android Graham broke? Or only some of them?

 

“They cook what you want,” Hank was still grouching. “They screw when you want, you don't have to worry about how they feel. Next thing you know, we're gonna be extinct, because everybody would rather buy a piece of plastic than love another human being.”

 

“The earth is overpopulated, Lieutenant. You’re worrying over nothing,” Diego muttered, annoyed with his cynicism. Annoyed at the implication androids couldn’t feel.

 

Annoyed at himself for being uncertain if his father could input emotions on his own android and Cyberlife, with its million of workers, might not be able to.

 

(Dad was a human being and Mom wasn’t. And he knew damn well which one showed any positive emotion towards him growing up.)

 

A _clang_ rang through the room and Diego immediately snapped his head towards it, eyes widening at spotting Connor wrestling a brown haired Traci, LED’s bright yellow in the half lit room.

 

“ _Don’t move!_ ” The Lieutenant snapped out, gun out and aiming towards the androids, just in time for the blue haired Traci to finally make an appearance, tackling Hank to the ground, gun skittering out of his reach.

 

Diego felt his pulse race as he quickly hurled his knife, with no small amount of force, towards the blue-haired Traci’s hand when she scrambled for the gun, even as he sprinted towards Hank.

 

The knife bit through the metal and plastic in her hand as it got caught halfway through, too thick for a smooth exit like a human hand, skin falling away to her wrist. She let out a surprised sound, not quite pained.

 

Androids didn’t have nerve endings, Diego knew. Pain won’t stop them in this fight like it would for he and Hank, who tried to recover from his fall still.

 

He gripped Hank’s arm and hauled him up as quickly as he could, and shoved him away once more when he heard the clicking of heels slap towards him.

 

He ducked, hearing the air _whoosh_ above his head as he threw an elbow back, only to immediately regret it when it damn near vibrated as it met the other Traci’s bare belly.

 

But Reginald Hargreeves didn’t raise any of his children to balk at pain, so he quickly rolled to the right on the ground, desperate to recuperate as he yanked out his second and last knife, catching sight of the brown-haired Traci drop a screwdriver as she hunched over her gut, holding a hand towards her white chassis.

 

She must have recovered from the blow quicker than Diego, because her skin fell back into place on her stomach and she met his eyes, taking a daunting step towards him.

 

Connor was suddenly there and he yanked her by the wrist hard enough that they stumbled over a male android in standby mode that fell to the floor with them as well, making no move to catch himself.

 

There was blue blood on the floor now from the blue-haired Traci, who took advantage of Diego’s low position and tried to shove her three inch heel into his head.

 

He dropped his knife as he gripped her calves at the last second, pushing his hand hard behind her knee and toppling her over.

 

Hank was immediately there, trying to hold her still and seemed half successful.

 

Diego plucked his fallen knife back up and immediately hurled it at the brown-haired Traci, who seemed to be tussling with Connor again, their outlines blurry behind the plastic curtains at the center of the room.

 

He curved the knife twice around the curtains and the high table trolly he could recall seeing when he first took in the room, aiming for her hand as well.

 

He was rewarded by a macabre splash of blue across the opaque plastic curtains and Connor falling on his ass back into view.

 

Diego moved towards them, intent on backing Connor and retrieving his knife, only to nearly fall to his knees as Hank apparently lost his grip on the blue-haired Traci and she literally jumped Diego, legs squeezing him around the waist, an arm trying to choke him, a move she couldn’t know wouldn’t work on him specifically.

 

The move, however, was recognizable to him after using it countless times as a teenager himself when one of his siblings was backed into a corner in a hostile situation.

 

 _The Traci’s are trying to protect each other_ , Diego realized belatedly.

 

Blue-haired Traci hadn’t removed Diego’s knife from her hand and now wielded it against him, trying to slash at his face with an open palm, his own hands scrambling for her hand and flinching away, becoming intimately aware it was double bladed, her hand now weaponized front _and_ back

 

Scowling, he clenched her impaled hand by the wrist with both hands, feeling her legs tighten around him, heels digging harshly into his stomach, and ran head on towards a wall free of boxes and androids.

 

At the last second, he twisted his body and felt something in her body _shift_ through his back as she hit the wall, losing her grip on him and hitting the ground hard.

 

He fell to his knees and ripped his knife from her hand, slippery with her blood. “ _Run,_ ” he hissed lowly to her.

 

She stared up at him with furious eyes, LED flashing yellow to red to yellow again in distress.

 

He heard heels running toward him again and rolled to his left before another heel could properly dig into his head, leaving the girls a clear exit towards the warehouse entrance.

 

The brown-haired Traci yanked the blue-haired Traci to her feet, dragging her towards the exit, and Diego caught sight of his other knife imbedded in her hand still, bleeding freely, not pausing for a moment to remove it as they made it outside.

 

Diego rubbed a tired hand on his face as Connor passed him, not offering any assistance, instead doggedly pursuing the Traci’s.

 

 _Shit_ , Diego realized, rising to his feet and following. The only true exit from here out of Eden Club was over the chain link fence and Connor knew it.

 

For the second time today, the rain immediately soaked Diego to the bone as he ran outside, cursing under his breath.

 

Connor was currently being ganged up against the wall by both Traci’s in a way that was almost impressive. The brown-haired Traci was using his knife, now removed from her hand, to slash at Connor, who dodged where he could, throwing a kick out or ducking where he couldn’t.

 

Connor managed to shove her into the brick wall, slamming his hand into her wrist, forcing her to drop the blade, only for the blue-haired Traci rip Connor off her viciously, the brown-haired Traci using the moment to grab hold of a trash can and slam it into Connor, sending him flying several feet away towards Diego, leaving quite the dent in the metal.

 

The glint of metal on the floor suddenly caught Diego’s eye. A gun on the floor, he saw, feeling his heart pound.

 

 _This is gonna escalate_ , he realized as Connor swiped it up, aiming towards the blue-haired Traci who advanced on him.

 

Diego watched Connor lower the gun, despite the fact the Traci was directly in front of him.

 

She kicked him in the gut and the gun went flying once again. Diego threw himself back in, throwing his own foot towards her chest. It was hard enough that she went tumbling back towards the other Traci, who caught her by the shoulders and dragged her away from him.

 

The alleyway seemed to pause for a moment as everyone eyed one another, Diego taking care to stand in front of Connor, who seemed to have no self preservation.

 

He couldn’t see the Lieutenant from his position, but he could hear him gasping for breath somewhere behind him, which came as a small relief that the man was alright.

 

“When that _man_ ,” the blue-haired Traci spit out, unable to see the other Traci’s stern look. “Broke the other Traci...I _knew_ I was next.” Her voice trembled. “I was so _scared._ ”

 

 _I felt scared_ , the Ortiz android told them last night, arms and face littered with dents and burns.

 

“I begged him to stop and he wouldn’t…” She continued, now looking directly at Diego, who half watched the brown-haired Traci begin to move forward. “So I put my hands around his throat and I _squeezed._ I didn’t _mean_ to kill him. I just wanted to stay alive...and get back to the one I love.”

 

The Traci’s were holding their bloody hands together tightly.

 

Diego slowly took in a breath, uncertain what he was seeing. _I knew androids were capable of love_. _I always knew but…_

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could always hear one of his siblings voices protest Mom’s love for them when they were at their lowest.

 

 _She_ has _to love us,_ Five told him once when they were eleven. _Is it real love if she doesn’t have a choice_?

 

 _Mom doesn’t defend us, she’s not a person_ , Allison had said at one point after a bad training day. _She doesn’t care about us anymore than Dad makes her._

 

He swallowed. These Eden androids weren’t built for anything other than human pleasure and they felt love anyway. Somehow they felt love despite their memories being forcibly wiped every two hours.

 

Diego took a step away from them, lowering his eyes.

 

“I wanted her to hold me in her arms again,” The blue-haired Traci continued, lips tight. “To make me forget about the humans; The smell of their sweat and their dirty words.”

 

“Let’s go,” The brown-haired Traci murmured to her, tugging her towards the fence. Their LEDs were a calm blue once more.

 

Without a backwards look, they walked away, only pausing for the brown-haired Traci to pick up Diego’s fallen knife, as they scrambled up the fence and dropped behind it.

 

He allowed it, knowing they’d need some protection out in the world.

 

The brown-haired Traci turned around and made eye contact through the fence and Diego watched as she slashed two his his car’s tires.

 

“What the hell, man!” he snapped, striding up to the fence and shaking it.

 

“Payback,” she snapped back, as the blue-haired Traci began pulling her away, giving Diego an uneasy look. “For hurting her hand.”

 

Diego had impaled _both_ their hands but he certainly wasn’t going to bring it up, lest she slash the other two tires, settling for a scowl as they strode away hand in hand into the night.

 

“Well,” Hank said after a long moment of silence. “This was probably for the best.”

 

Diego nodded agreeably, turning around to see Connor staring after the girls, an odd look on his face.

 

“Not completely the best,” Diego decided, turning back to stare morosely at his car. “Can you give me a ride home and to work tomorrow, Lieutenant? I’ve had a long day,” he sighed.

 

Hank gave him an almost sympathetic look. “Sure. No skin off my back.”

 

“Let me get my gun,” he said before jumping the fence and unlocking his trunk, unwilling to glance at the tires and worsen his night any further.

 

He strapped the gun to his waist and threw his bloody knife into the trunk, knowing the blue blood would evaporate before morning.

 

Rolling his shoulders, feeling his throat and stomach ache, Diego wondered if he would bruise as he jumped the fence again, following Hank back into the warehouse with Connor towards the stairs leading back into the club.

 

The silence was broken by Diego’s phone ringing.

 

“What now,” he asked no one in particular, pulling it out and staring his caller ID which blared _Gavin Reed_ at him.

 

The Lieutenant waited politely at the door for him as Diego stared almost blankly at his phone. “You gonna get that?” He asked after a few seconds.

 

“It’s Reed,” he said in response, which drew raised eyebrows from Hank.

 

“Why?”

 

“One way to find out,” Diego sighed and swiped to answer it. “Hargreeves,” he greeted.

 

“ _Diego_!” A familiar voice cried. A voice that wasn’t Reed’s. “ _There’s been a shootout at Griddy’s, you have to get me!!_ ”

 

“...Klaus?” He asked stupidly.

 

“ _Yeah! Your cop friend lent me his phone. Hurry, he’s eyeing me down weird.”_ His brother’s voice was high and rushed.

 

“What do you mean a shootout?” He asked, meeting Hank’s wide eyes and starting to walk again up the stairs quickly. “Where’s Five? Are you okay?”

 

“ _I’m okay, get here soon!”_

 

The dial tone rang out, leaving a heavy feeling in Diego’s stomach.

 

“Hank, I need a ride to Griddy’s _now_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The outside of Griddy’s Donuts had more vehicles in the lot than Diego had ever seen. Cut off sirens and cracking walkie-talkies immediately invaded his ears when he swung open the car door the moment the Lieutenant parked the car.

 

His hair and jacket were still wet from earlier’s rain, which had since let up. The other officers looked pleasantly dry.

 

He ignored the greetings of “Hey, Diego!” from said officers, some of which had been outside at the Eden Club crime scene, in favor of striding quickly over shattered glass and swinging open the broken front doors.

 

They slammed against the walls with such a heavy thud that all the officers in the café turned to him in unison, briefly quieted.

 

He ignored them easily, eyes sweeping the countless bullet holes in the walls, ceiling, and through poorly flickering lights overhead. There were bodies strewn about the floor in various pools of blood, guns all over the place.

 

Hank and Connor reopened the door behind him more sedately as they made their way in.

 

“Diego!” Klaus called out from a booth off to the side, standing and practically falling into Diego’s arms before he could properly examine him. “It was horrible! All these _bodies_!” And then, so quietly it was almost inaudible, Klaus murmured, “ _They were after Five. He did this._ ”

 

Fuck. When they were kids, slaughter like this would have been closer to Ben’s work than _Five’s,_ for the sheer volumes of blood, if nothing else.

 

Diego cradled a hand to the back of Klaus’s head, palm angled _just so_ to ensure nobody could read his lips when he whispered back, “ _Is he safe_?”

 

A small nod from Klaus and they released each other, making meaningful eye contact before breaking it, Klaus retreating to the door and starting up a cigarette, exhaling smoke through the broken glass window.

 

“Same gun was used on every vic,” Reed was saying to Hank near the counter. “All done in fours. Never seen anything like it. You, Lieutenant?” He asked in a rare show of respect to Hank’s experience.

 

Hank was watching Connor with a disgusted look as the android crouched near the corpses and predictably dipped a finger into one’s blood and licked it. “Can’t say I have. And the witnesses say it happened within minutes?”

 

“Neither were reliable or saw anything concrete. The waitress was in the back room and Hargreeves’s brother ducked behind the counter,” Reed said. “There was a man with his kid just before the shootout though. Gonna check that out in the morning.”

 

“A kid?” The Lieutenant muttered, shaking his head. Diego turned his face away to hide a grimace. “Thank Christ they left before these goons showed up. Connor, you get an ID on any of them, yet?” Hank asked.

 

The android stood up, fingers stained red, not bothering to wipe them as he responded, “No, Lieutenant. None of these men can be identified by any police database in the United States.”

 

Reed watched the android evenly, scowl gone in favor of interest. “This just keeps getting more and more interesting. A turf war, do you think? With illegal immigrants?”

 

“The kills are efficient. Quick. These guys knew what they were doing,” Hank noted, stroking his beard. “I’d say they were pro’s at killing.”

 

Diego slipped a kitchen knife off counter and slid it discreetly into his pocket, on edge from the night and only getting more keyed up, wishing he hadn’t thrown his sharper knife into his trunk. Paranoid at his missing brother.

 

He rubbed a hand on the back of his head wearily, deeply unhappy at the observations and what it meant about Five. “Any fingerprints?” He asked. Because he went missing at thirteen, Five wouldn’t have any prints in the system. Not like the rest of the family.

 

He couldn’t deny it would be a cold comfort to hear them say _none in the system_ though.

 

“Yeah,” Collins confirmed from where he was hunched over a body, camera in hand. “But we won’t have the results until tomorrow.”

 

“Is that a _knife_ in that guy’s eye?” The Lieutenant asked incredulously as he moved away towards another body slumped in a booth.

 

Diego mentally cursed Five as he noticed the knife embedded in the man’s head was the one Five plucked off his floorboard of his car earlier, identical to the ones Diego pulled on the Traci’s.

 

 _Sloppy, Five_ , he mentally scolded. It wasn’t fair to expect Five to have _known_ Diego would be seen tonight using an identical weapon but it certainly didn’t make him feel secure in his family’s legal safety with one of his knives used at a crime scene.

 

“Hank, can you give us a ride back?” He asked before the man could observe any further.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, stepping away from the body. “This isn’t my case, anyway, interesting as it is,” he allowed, eyeing Reed who was now speaking to Agnes at a relatively blood free table, and Diego could only assume she was the other witness.

 

She didn’t seem harmed, thankfully.

 

Hank called for Connor, where the android was peering into the back office curiously.

 

“Hang on,” Reed called before they could make it too far out of the café. “I need a number to contact you later in case anything comes up,” he told Klaus.

 

Klaus swallowed and looked to Diego with wide eyes.

 

He sighed. “Just call me if you need him. He doesn’t have a phone.”

 

Reed’s familiar scowl was in place once more, and Diego couldn’t bring himself to match it for once, more and more exhausted by the minute. “Fine, but you aren’t getting anymore involved, Hargreeves. You’re too close now,” he warned.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Diego dismissed, waving him off as he stared towards the Lieutenant’s car.

 

This time he allowed himself to wave back at the various officers calling out goodbyes to him.

 

“What happened to your car?” Klaus asked. “And I didn’t know they made cop androids,” he continued without waiting for a response. “Like, I’ve seen the ones that give out parking tickets but you were totally speaking up in there, man. You go to college?” He asked Connor.

 

The Lieutenant shot Diego a look before he entered the driver’s seat as Diego sat in the backseat next with Klaus.

 

Connor took the passenger seat gracefully. “I’m an android sent by Cyberlife to the police to discover the cause to deviancy in androids. My name is Connor,” he greeted, turning in his seat to smile at Klaus who stared back, wide eyed.

 

“I’m Klaus...What’s deviancy and what’s the punishment for it?”

 

Diego sank in his seat and gave out the loudest sigh he possibly could. “It’s not a kinky thing,” he interjected before Connor could respond. The Lieutenant let out a snort. “It’s a new term for when an android stops obeying its protocol. Apparently they get pretty murderous towards their owners when they get upset,” Diego said, thinking of Ortiz’s android and the Traci’s, whenever they were now.

 

Of Mom.

 

Klaus opened his mouth and closed it again, looking oddly contemplative, eyes staring almost vacantly at Diego, not quite focused on him. “Is that why someone was murdered at an android strip club?”

 

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” The Lieutenant said, suddenly taking a sharp turn that startled Diego into leaning hard into the window.

 

“Where are you taking us?” He asked. “I thought you knew where my apartment was.”

 

“I need some air, after the day I’ve had. Hell, maybe we all do,” The Lieutenant mumbled something under his breath about donuts. “And why the hell would I know where your apartment is?”

 

It occurred to Diego that most coworkers didn’t look each other up for emergency sake. He let out a hum instead of answering.

 

In the front windshield, Diego could see though that he brought them to an empty park that overlooked the Ambassadors Bridge over a lake. In the far distance the city lights gleamed like something out of a movie.

 

Klaus immediately abandoned the car and made his way to the swing set.

 

Diego lingered near the car long enough to see Hank had no intention of ending the night sober, pulling a beer from the trunk and avoiding Diego’s gaze.

 

Connor, however, stayed in the passenger seat, eyes darting from Klaus, who idly swayed on his swing, reaching out to move the one next to him as well, to Hank and Diego as they began to amble towards the railing overlooking the dark water.

 

“How was, uh. How was your old man’s funeral?” Hank asked awkwardly as they stared out at the water.

 

Diego thought of Luther accusing his siblings of patricide and of Mom hiding away the very thing that got Dad called _The Monocle Man_ in all the Umbrella Academy comics. Of little Number Five, who had been missing for seventeen years, finally returning as thirteen-year-old with forty-eight years of life under his belt.

 

“Not at all how I imagine other funerals go, I imagine,” Diego settled on saying.

 

“Right, the eccentric billionaire thing,” The Lieutenant ran a hand through his hair. “Was I the only one in the department who had no idea who you were? About the Umbrella Academy shit?”

 

He snorted. “Pretty sure it’s split evenly between who knows and who doesn’t. The Captain does. It’s why I get away with so much shit.”

 

The Lieutenant took a long drink from his beer before replying, “I hear that.”

 

Distantly, the sound of a car opening and shutting reached them and they both looked over their shoulders to see Connor walking towards them, stopping some ten meters away near a bench.

 

The Lieutenant muttered something under his breath, too low for Diego to hear, before downing the rest of his drink in a way that made him grimace. He cracked his neck and turned around and walked off towards the android’s direction.

 

He waited until Hank’s footsteps trailed into nothing before reaching into his pocket.

 

Diego held the monocle in his hand for a long moment, dropping the glass and pinching the hook. Dangling it like a string.

 

Why the hell would Pogo tell _Luther_ and not Diego, the actual detective, that Dad’s monocle was missing? He made a living finding clues and piecing them together. Not ten minutes into the household and he found a monocle he hadn’t known was missing in the first place.

 

It all worked out, of course, now with Luther looking the wrong direction for Dad’s murder (heart failure be damned, Mom counted everybody’s intake of everything from calories to sugars). But it still _stung_ that Pogo prioritized giving Number One more information than Number Two, even after all these years.

 

He remembered Mom placing her pearls on Dad’s remains, the only consistent thing she was outfitted with since her creation. Her belated acknowledgment that he was truly gone.

 

Diego dropped the monocle into the dark water with no small amount of satisfaction.

 

“ _Oh my god_!” Klaus sharply cried out from the swing set, startling him. “What the hell are you doing man!”

 

Diego jerked around and saw Hank holding a gun to Connor’s forehead. Automatically, he moved towards the pair, pulling the knife his stole from Griddy’s from his pocket. “Hank, drop the gun,” he warned.

 

Klaus was almost instantly at his back, one hand grasping Diego’s arm that wasn’t armed. “He’s drunk and armed,” he hissed into his ear. “Let’s go, man!”

 

In front of them, Hank spared them a glance, eyes darting to the knife and before narrowing. “Is that a knife, Hargreeves? You had that the whole time?”

 

“The Kraken was distinguishable from the other Umbrella Academy members as he was the only one consistently armed,” Connor informed Hank, seemingly unfazed by the gun at his head.

 

Hank looked at Diego again.

 

“Not _consistently_!” He defended, scowling at the back of Connor’s head, even though it was true.

 

He felt Klaus shift behind him nervously and Diego swore he was gonna embed the knife into Hank’s shoulder if he didn’t drop the gun soon.

 

As though he heard these thoughts, Hank’s eyes flicked from Diego’s eyes to over his shoulder where his brother was hovering.

 

Diego kept his knife steady in his hand.

 

“You look human,” The Lieutenant told Connor in a warning tone, slur gone. “You sound human. But what are you, really?”

 

“Does it matter what he is,” Diego snapped. “He speaks. He can express an opinion. He’s fucking _sentient_ , Anderson. You pull that trigger, what are _you_?”

 

Connor was silent.

 

“You could have shot those two girls but you didn’t. Why didn’t you?” The Lieutenant pressed the muzzle of the gun against the android’s forehead, LED blinking yellow at his temple. “Some scruples suddenly enter your system?”

 

 _I was so scared_ , the Traci told them not one hour ago, voice trembling.

 

Diego took another step forward, incensed, though he knew the situation called for de-escalation, not more motive to retaliate. “You _hypocrite_! You hold a gun up to someone’s head and have the gall to ask him about needing _scruples_ to not shoot, you asshole!”

 

The gun, blessedly, lowered. Hank snapped at him, “I’m still your superior, Hargreeves. Watch the attitude.”

 

But Diego had to deal with his father’s funeral today. A funeral for a man that had always berated him for his _attitude_ , for his insolence, for always questioning the line-up instead of falling into line.

 

“You pulled out a damn _gun_ in front a civilian,” Diego stepped closer to shove a finger into the Lieutenant’s chest. “And not just any civilian. My brother who just deal with a shootout-”

 

“I cannot stress enough,” Klaus intervened. “How much I don’t wanna be dragged into an argument between two cops.” He stepped closer to them nonetheless, towards Diego’s unarmed left. “And _certainly_ not when one has a gun. I mean, who brings a gun to a knife fight?” He let out a nervous laugh.

 

The Lieutenant broke eye contact with Diego, retreating a step and shoving his gun into his waistband. Diego reluctantly did the same with his knife.

 

He tried to stand his ground but Klaus grabbed his jacket by his elbow and yanked him back a few steps.

 

“I...simply decided not to is all,” Connor said belatedly.

 

“What happens if androids die, anyway,” The Lieutenant mused, something almost mocking still in his voice. “Android heaven? Oblivion? Nothing at all?”

 

“I doubt there is a heaven for androids,” Connor replied at the same time Diego asked, “Why would androids be Christian?” Which pulled a snort from Klaus.

 

Hank sighed, rolling his shoulders back. “What?”

 

Klaus answered for him. “Because you were at Eden tonight,” he laughed, more high pitched than usual.

 

Diego rolled his eyes, retreating several steps from the group. “Are you good to drive, Lieutenant? It’s been a long day.”

 

“Where’s your apartment, Hargreeves?” The Lieutenant asked.

 

Diego didn’t correct him on being called _Diego_ this time. “Just drop us off at the Umbrella Academy. You know where it is?”

 

“Who doesn’t,” Hank responded, easing into the passenger seat.

 

“Connor, where do you stay at night,” Diego asked.

 

The android buckled his seatbelt. “I stay at the station for convenience, though I can return to Cyberlife if I need any repairs.”

 

Diego let out a hum, unwilling to offer up his childhood home to let Connor get away from Hank.

 

...Though Mom could use some company.

 

Connor wasn’t a deviant, however. Diego didn’t know how often he reported to Cyberlife but he couldn’t afford for the only android company in the world gain knowledge about Mom. It was too risky.

 

The ride to the Academy was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. I had family matters to deal with and it’s been stressful af.
> 
> Anyway, please comment! Those emails give me a brief high like you wouldn't believe.


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